


Apologies

by TJLaurentide



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Abortion, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Animals, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Ambiguous Relationships, Miscarriage, Multi, Racism, Self-Harm, Transfiguration, Unethical Experimentation, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-02-28 10:51:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13269912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TJLaurentide/pseuds/TJLaurentide
Summary: The country of Ruicury is small, and the tight-knit team of asskickers in the BAU help keep the country safe.  Canines, Felines, Mustelids, and others live amongst each other, but tensions occur, at work and at home.No one is perfect, and everyone has something they regret.  Opening up to one another could help ease some of that pain, if they'll let some walls down.





	1. Then & Now

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of short slices I wrote a while ago. Two big things:
> 
> The slices won't be in chronological order, however there will be year stamps.
> 
> This AU involves anthromorphic talking animals. There are no human characters. Everyone's fuzzy.
> 
> I know many folks dislike these, so you have been warned.

***  
The rules had been clear: to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit of Ruicury, your powers had to put you a cut above the rest. You had 30 minutes to show what you could do in front of the panel. If they liked you, you were in. If not, better luck next time.

Dr. Alex Blake had applied to the main office in Asio City once before, ten years ago. A younger and slightly more idealistic fur, she’d thought that her credentials and degrees and hard work ethic would be enough to get her in the door with the Bureau. As it turned out, she was wrong. She had been interviewed by a panel of three furs, and had walked in feeling confident. On the left had been a short Black Lab, Benjamin Barnet. Barnet had seemed as cordial as one could be behind the rigid exterior being the Director allowed. His onyx fur had shown in the mid-morning light, his suit pressed and his tie a bright Macintosh Apple red. He’d risen and shaken her forepaw, then settled. She had been delighted to meet him, and her smile was a wide one, genuine and true. There was more than one perk to being on the Director’s goodside.

One of these was that his last name was Barnet. There were nine field offices spread across the small country of Ruicury. Three of them: Williamstown, Peachton, and Barnet, were located in Cryntal, the northern province. The city of Barnet, named after his family, was a quiet but fairly rural city that had a high population of Mustelids. If she were to remain in the Director’s good graces, she could only hope to be able to transfer to the Barnet office if she were allowed and the Asio City office proved to be unpleasant.

The second fur, sitting silent in the center, had been a humorless Malinois. A black mask covered his brindle face, the fur short and flecked lightly with grey. His eyes were dark and beady; there was no cordial greeting, no nod, nothing. She’d tried not to let her smile fade, but felt as though the eyes were tunneling into her soul. He’d worn a hideous button-up shirt the color of sweat stains and pale red pinstripes, closer to a washed-out pink. The silence emanated from him was so loud, she couldn’t hear him breathe. After a few awkward seconds, she’d turned to the third panelist. 

On the right had rested an Amur Tigress. She was coiffed and styled in a sharp navy suit. Two gilded hoops had hung from each ear, a shade slightly lighter than her golden brown coat and her blazing eyes. Thick whiskers were curled, claws were out. Alex had felt the tips of them lightly scratch the inside of her wrists as the handshake ended, a calculated move that said _you are in OUR house now._ A shudder went down her back and the Tigress’ mouth twitched into a small smirk.

There was no equal opportunity employment, nothing saying Mustelids could be hired the same or treated the same at the BAU as Felines or Canines. The large minority faced discrimination in many fields, but Alex had thought she’d had a fighting chance. Leaving the interview, she had strong doubts what her chance truly was. The demonstrative part of the meeting, where she could show her magical talents, had been a far more positive experience. Targets were struck perfectly, multiple spells and charms worked beautifully. Her natural Mustelid abilities of disapparation & apparition were on point. Her electromancy had gone well, but there was only so much one could do indoors in a controlled environment! She had ended her performance out of breath but also out of the building, no job offer signed. They had been watching her closely, and she hadn’t been enough. It had stung her pride, but she decided ultimately to put her energy into academia, and threw herself in completely. 

Many years later, all four provinces - Cryntal, Cuon, Shead, and Violeta - had opened up their equal employment policies. The Academy had opened up a division specifically catering to Mustelids, (although few passed at first) called the Rose Corps. Even so, the hiring of Mustelids was rare for years. Those that were hired were relegated almost completely to deskwork, although she personally knew of a brilliant exception.

**2012**

***  
In the end, Alex had seriously considered re-applying. Ten years ago, her electromancy alone hadn’t been enough to get her a seat at the round table with the others, but a dinner meeting in the small town of Tinmouth with her friend Dr. Reid had changed that.

Dr. Spencer Reid was easy to miss in a crowd. A tall, slender Pine Marten with dark carmel fur and a lighter patch of creme brulee on his throat, he didn’t stand out. A long knit scarf the color of burned toast and longer black wool peacoat helped him blend in further into the night. She could pick him out easily, though, his hazel eyes aglow with warm regards as his friend neared. Fatherhood and a fairly-stable love life had done good things for him. He had picked her out much easier. 

The Weasel’s russet ears were tipped with beige diamond-points, and two small brown stripes that echoed a diamond motif adorned each cheek. A warm butterfleece plum dress with diamond cutouts down the bell sleeves matched her velvet heeled boots. Around her neck hung a great necklace of green turquoise, two large squares north and south, the two smaller ones east and west, forming a diamond shape. They matched the designs etched in her scepter, stored safely at her side. When the friends embraced warmly, she followed him to Larry’s Diner, one of his favorite restaurants. The cuisine was eclectic. As they ordered their ales, both began to relax in each other’s company.

The two Mustelids had hunkered down to sesame noodles as they played catch up. Reid had popped by his hometown to visit his mother, an ailing Mink, in the rural farm-based residential facility. It was a modest six-bed facility, but the hands-on time at the farm and individualized case management had been worth it to keep her in her hometown. She watched her younger friend mow down on the fresh salads and noodles before them. The restaurant served the best summer rolls in western Cuon, and the pure delight on his face as he ate them was an even greater delight to her.

“...and I mean, rules are changing now, Alex. The terms of the test used to be that new applicants could only be Canine or Feline, and that each team member had to be specialized in one kind of gun. But they let Morgan on the team, and then opened the hiring ban on Mustelids that graduated from the Rose Corps, so--” He pointed to the patch on his messenger bag, a replica of the Hot Cocoa rose.

“That's because you’re so special, Spencer.” She speared some noodles and took a large gulp of her ale. “Gideon vouched for you all. This country sees us as… less. Gideon accurately saw you as much more, but the hiring gates being opened to all the Rose Corps graduates became a catalyst.” 

It was true. When reports crossed Ruicury that three Mustelids had been hired to the BAU, a vocal minority of racism had blown across the northern third of the country demanding Gideon’s resignation. The Malinois had walked away from the Bureau with only a letter to Spencer.

“It’s been years, though. Give it a try.” He grinned, whiskers twitching as his hazel eyes flashed green for a second. “Show Strauss and Director Reagan what you can do.” He poked at the noodles, then flashed another toothy grin her way. “You gonna eat that last summer roll?” She speared it and dropped it on his plate, where it was instantly devoured.

Reflecting later that night on his advice, she decided she would.

***  
It was that they had hired Derek Morgan that had truly given her the greatest hope, if she was honest with herself. He had worked in Rafford City for years in law enforcement and seemed like a stand up fur, but he was non magical. His mother had been a brilliant sorceress, his sisters both had been skilled with potions, but Derek’s own skills were based on his physical strength alone. A towering monster of a Canine, the great Rottweiler was hard to miss on the press conferences. If the panel would approve a Canine without obvious magical abilities to an elite team of magic users, surely she had a chance. 

***  
Walking into the building, she saw a pair of Pine Martens working the large reception area. A male with light salmon fur and shorter, bristled whiskers was on the phone. A leaner female with fur best described as burnt sienna and black hair down below her shoulders was filing paperwork. A few black stripes criss-crossed her arms. Both wore their rose patches on their blazers. There were a pair of simple vases on the oak desk, one holding tall red roses, the other holding squat yellow ones with a pink trim. As Alex leaned in to smell them, a chirp bubbled out of her throat. The scent was so lovely! Her eyes opened in time to see the female Marten turning too fast at the sound, smack her coworker across the face with her arm and a wave of her tresses, and accidentally knock him over.

_“GRANT”_ she hissed in a not-so-subtle manner, her body going stock still as she flashed an embarrassed grin at the stranger before her. Alex simply smiled back and wondered what kind of idiocy she was truly in for.

“Dr. Alex Blake, I’m here for the interview.”

“Agent Gina Sharp. Rose Corps?”

“Heritage Ausblush. I grew up in Aero Town, a little northeast of Rafford City.”

“Nice! Ah, this is Agent Anderson… he’ll show you to the panel.” The male Marten made his way over and shook her paw, motioning for her to follow as he rounded the hallway to the elevator, which happened to be coming down as they arrived. The doors buzzed open, and a great black Raven pumped its wings and flew out, letting out a squawk and peeling a hot pink “spank me!!!” post-it off the back of the massive, grumbling Rottweiler in front of it. A muttered “damn it, Baby Girl!” could be heard as the duo went out the main doors, Raven cackling hysterically.

Entering the elevator, Alex couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. Anderson shook his head.

“Good luck.”

***  
A German Shepherd, Red Fox, Amur Tigress, and Lion all sat at a long mahogany table with paperwork before them. On the left side of the room hung dozens of weapons, from shotguns to axes to swords. On the right, spices, herbs, and potions for amplifying powers. 

She recognized the Tigress as Erin Strauss, the bitch who had shut her down ten years ago. The Lion was clearly also upper management by the silver streaks in his golden mane. She didn’t know the Shepherd, but the Fox was Director Frederick Reagan, and she felt nervousness grip her for a moment. Ben Barnet had passed away two months after she had last been in the BAU.

“Step forward.” Frederick spoke first, and Alex fought to keep composed. She bowed respectfully and stepped forward. Ten years ago, she had held back and used her skills in a restrained and respectful manner, mindful of her surroundings. Now, there were targets and dummies all over the room. This… oh, this was going to be fun. She could feel the eyes on her, judging her.

_Let them judge._

“Dr. Blake, I’ll be honest. We already have a Mustelid on our team, as well as our two support agents Sharp and Anderson, whom you’ve already met. We also already have three talented elementally-gifted agents, so I’m skeptical as to what you can bring to this team. However, the next thirty minutes are yours. Good luck.” As soon as he sat, Alex drew out her sceptre.

The gunmetal gray steel bespeckled with diamond-shaped green turquoise stones shown in the light. She let out a yowl as the summoned bolts began to come down. Outside, the sunshine had disappeared and black clouds had quickly rolled in. To be truly effective, she needed to be outside, but that wasn’t an option. Pulling down a large bolt, she molded it into a sphere and threw it like a softball. The target smashed and a hole blown into the wall, she summoned a thunderbolt to rip straight through the ceiling and into the floor, obliterating her second target. More and more thunderbolts flew down, the energy fueling her. Switching briefly to her gun, she nailed a perfect score on the shooting dummy, holstering her gun and smiling. Now for the finale.

A flick of her black tipped tail and she disappeared in a fading shower of sparks, apparating in front of the German Shepherd. He didn’t seem surprised by disapparation, which was good. She didn’t want to work for someone afraid of basic Mustelid abilities. Arms and scepter raised, she threw down her arms in a swift motion while chanting. Five powerful lightning bolts surged outside and the rolling thunder made the room vibrate. The smell of burnt materials and hum of energy filled the air. The Lion was smiling broadly now, but the others held poker faces.

Weaving the final spell, Alex cast Transfiguration. The russet Weasel leaped into the air and her small forearms twisted and grew into large, broad black and white wings. The diamond-shaped accents on the tips of her ears were smattered across the monotone wings, giving the ticked coloring the details of hundreds of black and white diamonds. Tiny clawed toes became glossy talons. Her body shifted, and she let out a raw cry, her Avian body soaring about the room. 

“An Osprey. Very nice.” The Lion nodded at the Fox, who turned to the Shepherd. His eyebrows had risen and he was hiding a smile behind his forepaw. His eyes were riveted to the great bird of prey as she struck the training dummy and decapitated it. Doing a twirl, Alex landed as she released the spell. The feathers faded back to fur, and she quickly slipped her plum dress back on. Her fur was rumpled from going through her spellbook in such short time, but she prayed it would be worth it.

Standing, the Shepherd walked forward and shook her paw. His robotic face was all smiles, and his tail was wagging as their dark brown eyes met.

“My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner. Welcome to the team, Dr. Blake.”


	2. Modern World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Modern world has more ways, and I don't mention it since it's changed while the people go out and the people come home again." - Wolf Parade

***2007***

The first time Spencer had been late, it was after the ghost of Hankel had wormed its way into his veins and stirred within him a desire to escape reality like never before. Tall, straight-laced German Shepherd Aaron Hotchner had watched the youngest slide in, clearly sick and suffering. The black, unfeeling eyes of Senior Supervisory Special Agent Jason Gideon, Belgian Malinois, had watched. The troubled maroon eyes of Emily Prentiss had watched as well. Unlike Hotch or Gideon, the Flat Coated Retriever did something about what she saw.

“You know,” she murmured gently to her colleague as they traded books on the flight home after the case had ended and he was thinking about getting high once his doors were locked, “I can give you a lift in. We’re not that far away from each other.” It was a partial lie; she was almost twenty minutes away from his apartment, but she was banking he wouldn’t call her out on it. She was right. The next day, her little black Infinity was parked in his lot and the worn Pine Marten came trudging down, eyes dark-ringed from the demons eating him alive, whiskers askew.

She spared him the godawful chatter he’d feared other coworkers would drown him in and instead drove them in a companionable silence down Storr Ave. He watched the buildings go by as they sped along, Emily’s lead foot making good time. As they neared the final third of the way to work, she took a hard right onto a one-way street, and Spencer found the car parked on the left in front of a rather unremarkable brick building. It had only one window, and there was no obvious sign outside. Down the street were two abandoned shopfronts, to the right a greasy tattoo shop full of leather and steel bdsm attire in the windows that looked older than the streets themselves. He played nervously with the strap on his weathered canvas messenger bag until she popped back into the car, handing him a small bag and a large hot beverage, two other larges settled in the cup holders. The aroma of carmel, mint, chocolate, and baked goods filled the space as they made their way to work, Spencer cautiously sniffing the drink, bristled whiskers flickering. He didn’t take a sip until he got to his desk, and then his ears shot up and his plush tail corkscrewed. Handing JJ her usual mochaccino, Emily pretended not to watch Reid’s reaction to his drink. She stopped pretending when he let out a noise that nearly went straight to her crotch.

Spencer had stopped caring about a lot of things, and some days he just felt numb. He had liked being numb, liked killing off his pesky emotions and the weakness he saw in himself. He felt strength in his gradual self destruction sometimes. As his lips savored the taste of rich, homemade hot cocoa with cayenne pepper and cinnamon, he felt more alive than he had in weeks. For almost three minutes, he was in another world. The chocolate drink had a thick layer of fluffy whipped cream that was rich and cooling, with a spring of fresh organic spearmint in it. He felt… soothed. His ears twitched rhythmically as he drank, a relaxation he had craved settling over him like a warm, slightly spicy blanket. Letting out another noise of delight, he sat the cocoa down and reached for his things.

“Easy kid, save those sounds for your bedroom.” Morgan chuckled and saw Spencer actually smile for a moment. It was a smile that had been neglected and used more a a shield than in sincerity for too long. As Hotch called them into the roundtable room, Morgan shot the ladies a smile before turning, an atomic tangerine post-it on his broad black and chocolate back saying “SPANK ME!!!” written in purple glitter ink.

“I will pay you to keep feeding him that cocoa from Florian’s Bakery if it brings the old Spence back,” the blonde mix whispered as they got ready.

“Thanks, but I think the old Spence is gone. We just need to get the new Spencer healthy.” As they were about to sit, Hotch slid by Morgan nonchalantly and removed the post-it, distracting him with intramural football jargon.

***

The second time he was late was when Hotch saw Spencer Reid differently for the first time.

They were in Williamstown, an upscale area of Cryntal. Their primary hotel had been double-booked, so Aaron had been forced to take a place a little further from where they had planned to stay. It had only been a single room on the first floor; Reid had been given the rare luxury of his own single as well on the third floor. When sleep had abandoned Aaron and he’d decided to drive to the precinct to go over the case, he hadn’t thought anything of it. He would text Reid in a few hours & let the young fur know he would have to hail a taxi. It wasn’t anything any of them hadn’t done before on the job.

Except, in Reid’s case, it was.

It was practically an hour and a half later that Hotch had pulled Gideon aside, the two Canines given some privacy in a back office away from the ears of the rest of the team (and police force). He was pacing, infuriated that Reid still wasn’t there. He had missed the flight, that was bad, but at only four miles away, there was really no excuse. The Shepherd growled low as he vented to his colleague.

“I mean, what the _fuck_ , Jason? I get that he’s struggling, but you know, we’re on a case and we have shit to do. Morgan keeps offering to go get him, but I need the team to focus on this case, not Reid.” 

“Give him enough rope to hang himself with, and he’ll do just that,” Jason muttered. Hotch leaned back against the door, a silent groan of frustration rising from his chest.

“We get back to Asio City, and I’ll have to take disciplinary measures. I didn’t want to have to do this. I thought he could come back from this and handle it.” Jason remained silent, eyes staring at the wall. Taking the cue, Aaron opened the door and walked out, leaving the Malinois to his own thoughts. As he rounded the corner, JJ and Emily came back in from visiting the local school, their faces as stressed as he felt. Muttering to JJ, Emily changed gears and strode assertively up to Hotch, her face unreadable.

“You asked him to take a _cab?_ ” Her voice was much louder than she’d intended and much louder than he’d expected. Morgan’s ears perked, but JJ smacked the Rottweiler with a file and drew him out of earshot, rambling about the victimology to keep his attention. Hotch gave her a slight look, but he was shocked to see her give him one back; her fur, he realized, was bristling. Her eyes with full of iced venom.

“A _cab_ , Hotch? In _Williamstown?_ What the--” He moved to cut her off, but she opened a vacant office and motioned for them both to go in. He sighed and turned to her.

“Yes, a cab. I came in early and we’ve all taken cabs in before at one point or another. It shouldn’t take,” he glared at his watch, “close to two hours to get here.” He looked up, frowning, but the anger in her face had changed into something else.

“Has Haley ever taken a cab?” Her voice was a gentle, non threatening question, but he wasn’t following her shift in tone or focus.

“No, Haley’s never taken a cab. I usually drive.” He tried to read her, tried to see. “We’re talking about _Reid_ here, Prentiss, not my wife.” She nodded, but as he turned to open the door she tried again.

“Does she buy groceries when you’re on a case?” He paused, going thoughtful.

“She does, but it takes forever. She gets skipped over in line for the Canines so I try to pick up what she might need before I go and when I come back.” Emily nodded. As he opened his mouth to speak, his eyes went far away. _It takes forever for a Feline; Spencer getting a cab in a place with old Canine money… and racism… and... rain…_

_Oh God._

_What have I done?_

_Oh no._

“Oh no.” She watched as her boss’ expression turned into one of terrible realization before she spoke softly.

“I’m going to take the SUV and go find Reid. We’re going to go back to the motel because he’s probably drenched to his skin by now. We’ll be here as soon as we can.” He nodded as she walked out, clutching her keys tightly and breaking into a run once she got outside, the rain coming down in torrents.

***

Reid joined them at the fourth crime scene. He’d cleaned up, but the chill in the air and the fact he’d been saturated in water for two hours had him looking miserable. It was still pouring, and he had curled his tail close to his feet for warmth. JJ had been pumping him with hot beverages since he’d joined them, but the slight shakes that came occasionally had Gideon and Hotch watching closely. Hotch had to wonder how much of Reid’s quivers was possibly from the trauma and the drugs, and how much was from his boss’ neglect. He focused on the case, but the guilt ate at him. At one point he met an awkward gaze from Emily, but sadly broke it.

***

The night was awkward. The single rooms had been booked for the night prior to them, so they were sharing a room. Hotch had never roomed with Reid before, but when they’d gone into their room the Marten had claimed the bed closest to the heater. He’d then immediately taken a hot shower.

Leaving Reid a note on the table, Hotch left and picked up takeout from the Chinese place down the street. Sesame shrimp, veggie lo mein, teriyaki chicken and beef, candied spare ribs, fresh crab rangoons, and a triple order of summer rolls. Pork and mushroom fried rice was in heaping bowls. As he laid out plates and forks, purposely skipping the chopsticks, he watched Spencer come back in, a new black messenger bag with celadon trim. Seeing Hotch’s inquisitive look, he smiled.

“Made from recycled tires. A bit more waterproof.” He took in a deep breath and grinned. “Oooh, you did go all out. You did grab summer rolls, right?” Pushing forward the bag, Hotch’s dimples made a rare appearance as he watched his friend make a chitter of delight start to eat. He quickly followed suit. The conversation wasn’t light - Hotch alternated between spending time actively listening to his youngest team member and apologizing for being a heartless ass. Reid had accepted the apology and had seemed to almost apologize himself for being a burden, but Hotch wasn’t having it. He didn’t fight with the fur, but he tried to stress that mindfulness of all of his team members would be a larger priority. Being seen as an equal seemed to sit well with Reid, and the two had gone back to a comfortable review further of the case. Hotch enjoyed Reid’s insight and let him freely ramble, at some points forgetting his meal to watch Spencer pop roll after roll into his narrow jaws and give himself over to his enthusiasm for knowledge. 

The night began to wind down, and rest was welcome. He’d called Haley to confirm she & Jack were well. After reading two chapters of his book, he’d wished Reid a good night and then turned off his light, a soft huff as he slept. Reid watched the Shepherd doze for a while. Waiting only until he was certain Hotch was completely asleep, Spencer changed into just his boxers and slipped under the covers, making sure he was burrowed low. With a comfortable sigh, he too drifted.

Aaron got up once in the night, relief necessary. He smiled at the two twitching ears barely peeking out of the comforter, snoring faintly. A long, lean leg hung over the edge of the bed, toes splayed. He assumed Reid was really worn out from the day's events. Settling back in, he was out fast.

It was much too early and he’d woken before Reid, who had gotten warm in his sleep and had clearly flopped about to get comfortable. He was uncurled like a child’s slinky that had been stretched. Long toes hung over the edge of the bed, mouth open and snoring hard like a chainsaw. His back was to Aaron, and in the dim light, the Shepherd couldn't help but stare.

Metal pieces were in his back, four small terminal pieces on each side of his spine. There were scars on his shoulder blades. Aaron felt emotion build inside him, a pressure behind his eyes. Closing his eyes, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Spencer. He knew it wasn’t his business, but he felt a tightness in his chest as he stared. When Spencer eventually rolled onto his back and then woke a few hours later, Hotch invited him down for coffee and they resumed their work roles.

The violent scarring and shards of metal in that soft, tormented body of his suffering agent didn’t leave Hotch’s mind, even after Reid’s overall health began to improve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


	3. Grounds for Divorce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Found eighteen reasons I can't pick up on the phone. Said, 'look at the clouds! It's a show all on its own!' Such were the grounds, such were the grounds for divorce I know." - Wolf Parade

When you wanted the picture-perfect romance in the BAU, there was only one, and it was the Hotchner family. Haley and Aaron had fallen in love in high school, sharing polite kisses at the bandstand and cute plans for the future. They’d pooled their resources and secured their own apartment in college. She had decorated it with her spider plants and his ferns, and later they had taken a 3D art class together and picked up on some basic carpentry to do their own handywork. They complemented each other, both a bit OCD and with their eyes on great things for each other.

At 27, they married in a wedding that wasn’t overly lavish but was like a fairytale for both of them. The beautiful blue-eyed Jaguar in her ruffled wedding dress, all glistening taffeta and bows and modern lace, golden combs in her radiant hair and a bouquet that a fairy queen herself would kill for. Lush peach and toasty persimmon hues surrounding them in an atmosphere as idyllic as their dreams. The handsome German Shepherd in his perfectly pressed tux and tails. His mother and her father had been happy for them; their siblings delighted. Their wedding photos were professionally done and highest quality, but it wasn’t the cost or the photographer that made them shine so much in the perfect afternoon sun. It was their love, smiles full of the happiness they had known and would know for longer.

His sister-in-law was a saint. A bit taller and less fashion-forward, Jessica was caring and the perfect maid of honor to Haley. In a photo he would keep forever, the two beautiful Jaguars had posed with their flowers: Jessica on the left with her green eyes and Haley on the right with her bright blue. Amongst his law books and mundane taupe colors of his office, the sunlit photo of the smiling sisters brightened his day and spread warmth in his heart, even when being chewed out by Ice Queen Erin herself.

Later that year, after a particularly enthralling football game between Thandie and Nova Res (and a broken end table and cracked headboard), a decision was made to have a child. What followed was a long but difficult process neither had anticipated.

Haley was a beta. One out of six beta females had difficulty conceiving due to a bleeding disorder. After three miscarriages, it was found that not only was Haley suffering from endometriosis, she was suffering from beta bleeding disorder. Hearing the news, gripping Haley’s shaking paws in his, Hotch felt more helpless in that office with his wife than some of the worst cases he’d seen in the BAU.

It had taken fertility treatments and two more miscarriages before Jackson Roy Hotchner was born. The whole Brooks family had celebrated, and in a rare act, he had mailed his mother a birth announcement. Cakes and gifts were heaped upon them, and he was convinced he’d never be happier in his life. There was nothing, he decided, that could possibly top having his wife and son with him. He was truly the happiest fur alive.

***Early 2004***

When Spencer Reid had been interviewed for the BAU, Aaron had sat with Gideon. Strauss had given the Malinois the green light to pick a third Mustelid for the office. Reactions to Anderson and Sharp had been partially favorable within the Asio City’s BAU itself and the far north Barnet and Peachton offices, but less than so in Thandie and Williamstown’s field offices. They were kind of exotic to have, these slender chittering furry eels with legs. They were inseparable and moving in tandem, finishing each other’s sentences. Erin had mentioned more than once that they added color to the office, their glossy fur a pop of color in an office building of yellows, browns, and blacks. Aaron appreciated their efficiency.

Gideon didn’t want the third agent to be a piece of furniture in the eyes of the BAU. He wanted this agent to be the best Mustelid agent possible, something special. They had lost four agents in a bomb blast in Nova Res, almost two hours south of Mathilde and the southwesternmost city in Ruicury. If this Doctor Spencer Reid was as impressive in person as he was on paper, Gideon wanted him on Hotchner’s team immediately.

The interview had gone well, and it wasn’t lost on any of them that this fur before them was a master at schooling his emotions and answers in job interviews. There was one moment that would play on repeat in Hotch’s mind a little over a year later, but at the time had barely registered. The Pine Marten had gone rigid and emotionless at being asked if he would be willing to use transfiguration in the field. It was a hard limit that was drawn, but Hotch hadn’t pushed the issue. After all, Doctor Reid was certainly not the only team member that wouldn’t use the spell, and Hotch knew firsthand that somethings didn’t need to be pried into. Greenway, Gideon, and Jareau could all use the spell in the field - that was enough.

***

Most magical furs strove to learn transfiguration. The spell was considered the absolute pinnacle of shapeshifting. After chanting the incantation and a whirlwind of channeling magic, you physically shifted. You took on the shape of the animal in your soul, your physical abilities and powers were amplified, and you became incredibly difficult to injure. Most agents were proud of their mastery of transfiguration. Aaron Hotchner was not one of them.

His father and mother, in a rare act of mutual parenting, had taught him the spell. They’d shown him over & over. His father’s form was terrifying; his mother’s was slightly less so, but because their training was in tandem, his fear spilled over onto both of them. After growing up in Macquaport off the east coast of Shead, he was terrified of the squawks of sea birds, the crashing of waves, and the cries of seals. Aaron knew his father’s form- it was the form that haunted his nightmares for 18 years. A terrifying creature that made him fear for his life and wish for his death, wish to be stronger, wish to run away and flee the sea.

***2007***

The case had eaten at him. Murdered kids affected JJ and Aaron terribly, the sole parents on the team, but it had torn the depths of Reid’s mind up at night when he tried to sleep. The little Kitten had been dumped into the gears of the foster system after seeing her world upside down, and Reid had laid staring at his ceiling for hours. The battle with sleep lost, he drifted instead into painful thoughts of his own future. He’d always wanted to be a parent, but to do so was borderline impossible with their work schedule and with everything else in his life. He was a (sort of) recovering (sometimes) drug addict with (kind of) insomnia. He held a job and wondered sometimes how long he’d survive it. His mother was mentally unstable. His father was useless. What kind of father could he ever be? The seed of a thought buried into him, and the more he tried to think of other things, it niggled at his brain further, sprouting and taking root and pulling him into a full-fledged idea tree. Rolling over and setting the alarm to ring in two hours, he pulled out his ultrabook and began searching the internet for answers to questions he suddenly couldn’t turn off.

***11:45 AM __/__/07 text initiated***  
**SR:** I think Hotch is watching me. It's strange.

 **EP:** you’re re-reviewing a report on stomach contents, reid. you're dressed like you're Elder Reid on your first mission trip. trust me, the boss is hoping you’ll have a genius moment.

 **SR:** okay. 

**EP:** spoiler alert: please have a genius moment. please.

 **SR:** I just feel like he’s watching me a lot lately. like he doesn’t know I notice.

 **EP:** joke’s on him. you’re a genius; you see ALL.

 **EP:** anderson’s doing a Florian’s run. hot cocoa?

 **SR:** yes please :D

 **EP:** an epiphany any time would be stellar, though.

 **EP:** no pressure.

 **SR:** emmi stop.

***

It had taken a few months and his first disturbingly unsettling argument with Haley for Hotch to go out drinking with Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ. He understood it was important to spend a little time blowing off energy as a team. He wondered that night why the others never complained that Reid didn’t come. He supposed Spencer would decline simply because he couldn’t picture the genius at a bar, and also because the best bars in the heart of the city were full of Canines. The more he threw darts with JJ and aced trivia with Emily and Derek, the more the exclusion of their youngest member weighed on him.

After the incident with Reid standing in the sopping rain for a few hours, he had come home to Haley and paid more attention to the times and the ways she did things. There were little quirks that he’d noticed but at the same time never had really noticed, and he tried to go out of his way for her more often. Some days she would look at him strangely, others she’d thank him for making a random shopping trip to save her the time. There were some places she just wouldn’t go that he would, but she wouldn’t talk to him really about why.

He woke up soaked with sweat and short of breath sometimes from night terrors of their cases, of his childhood, of his son no longer in his home, of unsubs that could have killed longer, or of Reid’s back. He would have a glass of hot spiced chai and curl up with a book for a while, then drift off. Haley would ask sometimes what was wrong, but more often than not would simply sit near him, her presence the most comfort.

***July 2007***

“Jason, I need to ask you something, just between us.” The brindle Canine was in a rare good mood. He was leaving in six hours to head out to his cabin for a long weekend, and Hotch knew he’d caught him at just the right moment.

“Yeah, what is it?” As he turned into his office, Hotch came in behind him and closed the door, granting them secrecy.

“I roomed with Reid a while back and I saw something odd.” The beady eyes seemed to dull a bit, and the face unmoving. “Jason, he has body modifications - they look like cybernetics. There’s some heavy scarring on his shoulders, too.” Gideon studied Hotch for a few moments, then went back to his paperwork.

“So?”

“ _So?_ Jason--”

“Did you ask him, Aaron?”

“No, I just thought--”

“I hired that kid, Aaron. For what we pay him for a salary, he gets the privilege to work here, and it’s because of that brain of his. I don’t care if he has piercings or a dorsal fin or a headphone jack in his scapula. He’s a _Mustelid_ \- he’s weird. Scars are probably from his melee training or fighting with others of his kind. They’re a savage little family by nature, anyway.”

Hotch was silent as he tried to find the right words. As a former lawyer, he knew words, but they had to be the right ones. His mind was still reeling when he decided to just walk away from the conversation he’d been regretting from the start.

“Oh, and Hotch? Keep your eyes on what’s important.”

“Excuse me?” Aaron’s eyes were hard now, ears perked and the hair on his neck rising. 

“It’s disgusting.” Without explanation, Gideon shut the door and left Hotch speechless in his colleague’s office.

***6:17 PM __/__/07 text initiated***  
**JJ:** Stop it.

 **EP:** stop what? also, you stop. you’re right in front of me. hotch is going to think i’m  
playing sugar stacks again.

 **JJ:** Not my fault you got busted playing mind rotting phone games in a press conference. 

**JJ:** Morgan beat your high score by the way. 

**JJ:** If you were nice, you'd take that post-it off his back before some LEO sees it when we land.

 **JJ:** You should be ashamed.

 **JJ:** Stop Hotch watching. Creeper.

 **EP:** he just gave reid the once over.

 **JJ:** What? No way.

 **EP:** yes way. 

**EP:** do you think there’s something there?

 **JJ:** No. Absolutely not. 

**EP:** you sure?

 **JJ:** Gideon is watching you both now, FYI. Good job.

 **JJ:** Play that damn triple letter score already and stop being so smug.

 **JJ:** I heard that. 

***October 2007***

Haley left in the night. The Jaguar had taken their six-year-old son and the important things, like her pink vintage shag plush slippers and fine gold jewelry, and left behind unnecessary things, like Aaron. To be fair, he _had_ been putting her second in his life to the BAU. He wasn’t so much surprised that he’d finally broken the camel’s back as he was that she’d acted on it already. Hurt and drained, he had stood in the silent house feeling truly alone, then wandered slowly through each room, the pulsing of his broken heart beating louder and louder in his ears. Every turn he made through their home had his dark eyes roving over the blue and white walls _I’m blue_ , the furniture _am I just furniture to her now?_ left behind with the house, Jack’s room empty of his games. _oh buddy..._

Dropping his briefcase on the sofa, his appetite failed him abruptly. Looking at their marriage photos, a few photos of he & Jack together from playing soccer, from their “take your son to work day”… the weight of being discarded ate at him. Aaron stared at his phone, debating who to call. Ultimately deciding that he couldn't bother the others with his burden, he decided to find a bar. They were on stand down for the next week, and he figured his luck truly couldn’t get worse. If it did, it’d result in his death, in which case he wouldn’t exactly be around to give a fuck anymore. Trying to keep the bitterness and dark thoughts out of his mind, he threw on a dark fleece pullover and headed out into the night, driving towards the waterfront district on a whim.

The first two bars were packed full of people. While Aaron didn't dislike people, hell he was more of a people person with this job than he’d ever been, he just wanted to be in a fairly low key place. Somewhere with scotch and good music and no cramping or questions. Despite his initial and still fairly consistent inner voice that suggested against it, he parked at a small bar at the top of the hill and walked in. A half hour later, uncomfortable and increasingly morose due to the arrival of a gaggle of overly-energetic university students, he left on foot. The third time wasn’t the charm, and he was regretting coming to this district. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but it was a little artsy and the Canine population was rather low. Eying a record store and gelateria, he kept walking, finally coming down into something bigger than an alley, but hardly larger than a one way street. Deciding to finish the loop he was walking, it had been ages since he’d just gone for a walk, he hit a right and stopped for only a second to stare.

A very familiar blue Amazon was before him, parked next to a bar he had never been to or taken notice of before. As he took in the building, the vehicle was completely forgotten. **Terrible Tessie’s** was painted on an oak sign swinging with a rhythmic creak on a jet black metal rod. The building had an old russet brick exterior, marred with black grime and spattered… well, it was spattered. The windows were old fashioned colored glass, multiple tiny squares framing a larger central one in shades of cyan, magenta, chartreuse, and saffron. Getting closer, he realized some of the larger windows were more like sunbursts of bright green. They were made of recycled Latrobe bottles, positioned into a circular fan pattern, not quite flowers but glowing hypnotically in the night. The technical part of him was deeply fascinated by the creative design elements, awakening a childish curiosity inside of himself he didn’t usually let out, and he wagged his tail when he walked in.

The first thing he noticed was that of the thirty-fiveish patrons, he was one of only three Canines. Almost everyone else was a Mustelid. Otters, Stoats, Fisher Cats, Martens, and Mink were settled comfortably with each other. A few stared at the alpha Canine in their midst, but dismissed him by the painfully obvious disoriented expression on his face.

The second Canine was a tall cinnamon Basset Hound playing a mahogany upright bass on a maple wood stage. The beautiful oxblood wood thrummed and rang out, tiny gold detailing on the edges of the turnings made it look like the musician was surrounded by a rotating line of fireflies. He was howling some sort of song Aaron’d never heard before with a slow, bouncy two-tone beat that clearly some of the patrons knew as they were singing along, albeit widely out of key. He wore a moth-eaten olive green scally cap and a matching crocheted sweater with intricate ribbing and small holes on the elbows and neck. A pair of heavily-worn and ill-fitting corduroy pants with faded patches hung around his hips, nearly covering his oblong speckled toes. 

_“Two pints of booze, tell me are you a badfish, too? Ain't got no money to spend and I hope this night will never end!”_

The third was a dark tricolor Beagle who was wiping down the bar and from Aaron’s guess was some sort of bartender/security. While not particularly tall, he pulled off the non-threatening vibe to his customers and a clear DNFW signal to unwelcome guests. Styled in a mustard tie and black button down, he gave a wary but welcoming nod to Aaron, though his face revealed nothing. 

“What’ll you have, sir?”

“Scotch on the rocks, please.” 

“No you won’t.” Slapping down the rag he was using, he jerked a thumb to a large sign on the wall. It was black with stark white tile lettering: BEER ONLY. Aaron was almost regretting this decision. Almost.

“I apologize. Do you have a stout you’d recommend?” The Beagle was watching him hard, but nodded again and pulled over two bottles, then motioned to the iconic black & cream handle of one of the taps.

“We’ve got the classic Guinness, Young's Double Chocolate, and a local brew called Holy Smokes. It has a smoky aftertaste. I like Young’s myself; it's our best selling stout. We have it in the winter and spring mostly.”

_“Lord knows I'm weak, won't somebody get me off of this reef?”_

“I’ll try it. That sounds great.” He smiled and took a seat at the bar. While the Beagle poured and measured, Aaron looked over and saw a trio of Minks eating nachos. Following his eyes, the other fur spoke up.

“Here you go. Our kitchen runs til nine if you want an appetizer or a hot sandwich.” Hotch _hmmmmed_ as he enjoyed the cold brew and let his eyes travel over the menu. It was a small selection, but a flavor-filled one. There were four sandwiches, each with a unique name. They were called The Painter, The Christini, The Tanya, and The Chad.

_“There's a steel train comin' in and I would take it if I could, and I would not lie to you because Sunday mornin' soon will come..”_

“Thank you. I wasn’t hungry when I came in, but a hot sandwich does sound nice.” He mulled over the sandwiches again, trying not to use his profiler face. “Are you The Chad?” He smiled. The Beagle laughed quietly and nodded towards the Basset, who was bobbing eccentrically to his bass. Aaron couldn’t hide his own smile.

“No, I’m Jeremy. That’s Chad. He loves buffalo chicken and ranch with cabbage and lots of dressing, so we named that one after him. If patrons order enough of a specific thing they want, you know the kind of guy, he says, ‘oi, can you make me a this & this, but with this too and none of that and put it here?’ We get that now & then, but when it’s a regular, and your Thursday night act...” The Beagle smiled and Aaron managed a laugh despite himself, but had noticed Aaron was a bit soaked still from the walk. “Do you want something sweet or savory?” Eyeing the stout, Aaron _hmmmmmed_ again.

“Sweet, please.” Nodding, Jeremy barked harshly down to the kitchen. Deciding to trust the bartender’s advice, Aaron went up against a sudoku puzzle in the local paper while he waited, keeping time to the bass with his right foot. He chuckled. The beer and music had him in slightly better spirits already. While he’d initially thought he’d stuck out like a sore thumb, he was comfortable. As he pondered the puzzle, a pair of Pine Martens came up to the bar. Aaron gave a quick look and went back to the puzzle, but his ears shot up at the subtle scent of a cologne that was … to be honest, he wasn’t sure what it was doing to him, or at least not sure he wanted to acknowledge its effect on him. It was hard to nail down, but the lasting notes of vetiver and a touch of vanilla had him alert. His eyes lifted.

_“Cause it's so nice, I wanna hear the same song twice!_  
It's so nice, I wanna hear the same song twice!  
Nowadays all the songs on the radio, they all drive me crazy…” 

He had completely forgotten that Spencer Reid’s vehicle had been parked here.  
_Oh._

The carmel colored Pine Marten on his left retrieving a Guinness and a grilled chicken sandwich oozing teriyaki sauce was wearing a simple white button down and a pair of khakis, and blended in easily with the others in the bar. Turning his head, Spencer nearly dropped his plate.

_“Hotch?”_

“Reid. Uhm, hello.” He suddenly wanted to throw himself through the glass window.

“...Hello! What, uhm, what are you doing here, sir?” Aaron didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t want to spout his problems to his subordinate, but at the same time, he had gone into the bar knowing Spencer could be there. He didn’t want to give a hint that there was something wrong, but a basic profiler could see he didn’t belong in this place. As he tried to find a convincing lie or a very lightweight form of the truth, Spencer read his boss’ discomfort and decided to be brave, shooting his friends a look.

“Do you play poker?” Aaron looked at Spencer as though the fellow had asked him if he liked to drink barbicide with little umbrellas and orange wedges, but then took the out.

“A little, sure.” Spencer turned once more towards the back of the bar, motioning towards a table of other furs, one of which was calling for him to come back to their game.

“Come join us. We’ll deal you in.”

 _We_ , as it turned out, were Grant Anderson and Gina Sharp, both in Barnet Bears baseball jerseys and eating pretzels rapidly. Both looked mildly terrified Spencer had invited their boss to drink and eat with them. On the other side sat a short Badger with a southern drawl and a black leather jacket on, bat-like chocolate ears moving non-stop to try to take in every sound. To his right sat an average-sized Tuxedo Feline with a mesh shirt and sinfully tight designer blue jeans. Pale brown eyes glowed as he sassed the Badger.

“Nicky! It’s your turn to deal! Deal in Spencer’s friend… uhm… hello, who are you?” It was clear that Greg was rather buzzed, and Aaron wondered how Reid knew such an eccentric fur.

“Aaron. Aaron Hotchner. And you two are?”

“That’s Nicky, I’m Greg. Greg Sanders.” Nick and Greg both shook Aaron’s paw. 

“Greg and Nicky both work as CSI’s in the Tinmouth area. Greg and I grew up together, kind of.” They chuckled and the cards were dealt, any awkwardness leaving as a companionable calm settled. Aaron enjoyed hearing Greg tell animated stories about he and Reid’s times in chemistry classes and how an eighteen year old Greg had tried to be some sort of a friend to the gangly twelve year old he sat next to in AP English. Stories of Greg using the fume hood while making catnip brownies and of Spencer cutting classes while practically living in the school library. Aaron also picked up on Nick and Greg’s responses to each other. When they thought he wasn’t looking, a soft purr would come from the Feline when Nick rubbed his callous paws over his arms. It was obvious the Mustelid and Feline were very much in a relationship together, and this was one of the few places they felt safe to be who they were.

“I never imagined you as the type to hit a bar.” Spencer flashed his boss a shy smile. Nervousness gone, he was enjoying seeing his superior out of his Hotch persona. Aaron met the smile, dimples startling the younger fur. His whiskers flickered and twitched, taking in the sight.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a regular, but I do come here now & then. Grant, Gina, and I do trivia nights here once a month at the most.”

“We just make him look good,” Gina joked, and Grant snickered while brushing strands of her loose front fringe hair out of her eyes, tucking them behind twin copper bobby pins bedazzled with tiny crimson jewels.

“This place is different than most bars I’ve been to, honestly. It feels… warm. I can see why you like it here. The music and food are great, too.”

“I’ll say. Although I’ve never had a monte cristo before with apple slices in it.” He pointed to the sandwich on the Shepherd’s plate. “Do you like the Christini?”

“Definitely. Very much.” As if to prove the point, broad paws gripped the thick toasted bread filled with gooey swiss cheese, granny smith apple slivers, and maple-roasted ham. Dunking the sandwich in the small metal cup of pure maple syrup, Aaron let the flavors meld and savored the bites, letting out a noise of satisfaction.

The music had wound down, the Basset now downing a pint of cold lager at the bar and chatting with Jeremy, but the night was still young and Gina was shuffling the cards, the lights making her fur almost glow pumpkin orange, long black tresses braided down her back with bright red glass beads threaded in her fine strands. 

“Who’s in for another round?”

***November 2007***

In hindsight, Spencer Reid would look back on his time at the BAU and view it in thirds. The first third would begin that November, on a blustery rain-soaked weekend where walking outside would find you wallpapered in red and gold maple leaves. At the time, this was not a romantic memory, but time would warp it to be so, even in his eidetic memory.

He had been playing trivia with Grant and Gina one night at Terrible Tessie’s, eating buffalo chicken wraps and drinking ales when he’d seen a text on his cell.

***7:34 PM __/__/07 text initiated***

 **AH:** Do you have plans Thursday night?

 **SR:** I do but I will be home by 7. After that, no plans.

 **AH:** Good. There’s a new Chinese restaurant that opened on Townline Road a few weeks ago. Dave and I haven’t had a chance to try it. Would you join me?

 **SR:** that sounds great, emily said the sesame shrimp was nice. meet you there at 8?

 **AH:** That sounds good. I look forward to seeing you then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For plot purposes, Jack was born in early November of 2000.
> 
> The song Chad sings is a mash of Badfish and Boss DJ by Sublime. In 2004, Jack Johnson covered both songs and split them together. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	4. Shine A Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Spend boring hours in the office tower...that's fine; I'm barely alive. It's just a matter of time, no one gets out alive and I'm content, I'm content, I'm content to be quiet. You know our hearts beat time out very slowly. You know our hearts beat time, they're waiting for something that'll never arrive.” - Wolf Parade

***2009***

There was a time that things were going very well in Spencer’s life, and it went like this:

He worked 60+ hours a week. Tuesday nights were spent at Terrible Tessie’s with his friends - always Greg, sometimes Nick and Grant and Gina. Wednesdays were his day to do the mid-day coffee run to Florian’s: large mochachino for JJ, large macchiato for Emily, large tea for Hotch, large double double for Morgan, small tar black for Dave, a medium with 1 ½ sugars for Grant, and a triple triple XL with raspberry flavor for Gina. “It’s sweet and creamy, just like me!” the jovial Marten cheered when he handed hers over, while Dave swore from the bullpen, “That’s no coffee, that’s not even natural.” Thursdays were support group meetings at 7 pm, cathartic and introspective. Friday at noon was lunch with Aaron.

Mary, a 350 lb Pug with a warm smile and hand churned ice cream was their noontime delight every Friday. A discreet but cozy location away from prying eyes and nosey coworkers, the two would hunker down over the flavor of the day (unless Aaron defaulted to chocolate over trying something new) and ignored everything work related for 40 minutes. From “white lightning,” an extra rum-punched rum raisin to purple mountain top peppermint, they sampled their way through Mary’s latest creations. She would totter over to them with the daily specials and sweet tea for them both, and chirp now and then as she checked on them. All of her regulars had names, and they became her “Tree Top and Hot Shot” according to the petite, curlicued handwriting on their slips. 

Mary’s hadn’t been their first date. In fact, the first date had been a bit of a mess. A restaurant that hadn’t asked them to leave, not directly, but that Aaron had assumed would serve them both -- regardless of when he tried to backtrack and call it “on business” despite Spencer looking like he was going to an evening of chess at the library (and barely hiding a disappointed glace at Aaron at that comment). The frustrated Shepherd had argued almost too loudly that no, they were not going to take their dinners to go, thank you, before they had walking out. After wandering, they found themselves downing hot chow mein with hot tea and six orders of summer rolls in a small hole in the wall location, chuckling as Spencer explained the premise of a game show tha Aaron swore couldn’t have involved more pink glitter if it tried. A Tabby smashed golden eggs on the screen with a gilded hammer, tassels on her ears and tail, revealing prizes. It had been one of the first times in weeks since Haley had left that he’d truly laughed. They’d both planned to end the night politely and early with promise of another date, but found themselves talking early into the morning, 2 AM coming far too soon. 

*

Lunches were a social time for all of them. Dave loved to cook amd twice a week, he would just so happen to have enough leftovers for all of them. Garcia spoiled them with brownies and lemon tarts and fruity drinks she _swore_ were bureau-approved bubbly. Gina and Anderson would pick up Chinese some days when a case was extra grueling, with six orders of summer rolls - three orders for Reid, three for the rest of the team. While they had both remained purely professional at work, the team had noticed that their boss had smiled more, and that Reid’s hazel eyes had glowed bright honey brown sometimes. 

Then there were their scents. Reid’s natural scent was of rich vanilla bourbon. Hotch’s was like fresh spruce. There were mornings that while Morgan toiled on reports he would wink at JJ as the smell of spruce and vanilla seemed mingled together still. There were little ticks and cues that Emily picked up on, the way Hotch would linger without meaning to discuss a book that was being returned, the way Hotch’s gaze would sometimes keep wandering back to Reid’s backside when the Marten was marking the geological profile, the way Reid would check on his boss with a cup of tea when he looked like he needed it under the guise of needing to review a report. That’s how it went for almost three years- they worked together and loved together. For almost three years, Spencer was happy, truly happy.

Then Foyet came, and nothing was ever the same again.

***September 2009***

The breakdown came in three stages. First, there was a fight. It was simply _The Fight_ in his mind, until **The Fight** happened over a year later. There had been shouting. Aaron’s overwhelming terror for Spencer’s safety and his self-loathing won. Spencer had braced himself for the emotional fury that poured from his boyfriend. It was cruel, and it felt like a head-on car crash - blinding, breath-taking, shattering all around, leaving Spencer standing and gasping, staring at the shards of his life, their life as lovers, sprinkled like a greenhouse blown apart by a raging June windstorm. 

When Dave had pulled up to Hotch’s apartment complex a mere 30 minutes after having dropped Reid off that night, he’d bit his tongue as the Marten dragged two leather suitcases into the SUV, his messenger bag, and the uneaten takeout. Sinking into the front seat with his cane propped against the dash, the two rode in silence to JJ's rustic log Dutch Colonial with an attached matching barn. JJ had hot cocoa and lemon cake waiting for them at the table. Once fed, she and the others began helping her friend move into the mother-in-law apartment in the back. While Henry was delighted Uncle Spencer was visiting, she warned the bouncing five year old puppy that this would just be for the short term. 

***November 2005***

They were speaking at a class on Profiling 101. JJ and Emily had started by showing healing techniques and basic recovery spells- how to heal bullet wounds, how to heal fire and chemical burns, how to mend broken bones, and how to treat basic poisoning. Well, JJ had done the healing… Emily had mostly been inflicting damage on Morgan for her to heal. They had then moved on to demonstrate how to heal critically wounded comrades. Emily had shot Morgan in the gut, then carefully summoned her vines. As she called them forth, her wings burst from her back - jet black raven’s wings that pumped and stretched as she worked. Long, twisting ivy vines the colors of seraphinite greens came bursting from the earth, jagged leaves and coarse stems wrapping Morgan’s wounds. Sending her healing energy directly into the groaning Canine, the audience watched with rapt attention as the deep wound healed and the bullet was extracted with a simple spell. 

“It looks easy, of course, but it took many years of study to get to this point. You must always be searching out knowledge!” Many of the female furs had been making extensive notes and sharing glances. Emily’s vines always turned heads. Emily had also shown some of her elemental abilities with corrosive acid, which had grossed out some and awed others. The rank pools of caustic chartreuse littered the area before fading.

“She makes it look easy, kittens. But it never is, is it, Angel?” JJ nodded solemnly at Dave. 

“There will be days you have to let someone die so you can keep the others alive, and there will be days you overthink and doublethink a procedure. But you have to believe in yourself and make hard choices. If you want an easy job, apply at the gas station. If you want a challenge… if you want to challenge yourself? Apply to the BAU.” JJ could also summon vines and shrubs, but the spells were taxing.

Spencer had done some quick hack & slash techniques on the dummies and shown off his rapid disapparation techniques, then propelled backwards. Hotch had lead the students into Patronus charms. He had always loved charms, and the team thoroughly enjoyed watching him don a glowing smile as he waved his paws, stated the incantation, and let a ghostly fluorescent blue Wolf run about the room.

“He’s thinking of Jack,” Dave had murmured to JJ, who smiled knowingly. JJ’s Margay Patronus ran with it, and the students had cheered ecstatically. Finally, Dave had come forward, a wise smile on his face.

“Now, I know you all wanted to see this part the most, so here it is. Transfiguration! It’s one of the most challenging spells you can cast with a tricky, delicate incantation. It is perhaps one of the most frustrating spells as well, because your transfiguration will be what your soul truly is. Some are not happy with how their soul appears. Others delight in this form so much that they covet it more than their true physical form. It is a draining spell, but the more you use it, the stronger your form will be. The other trade off? You can only communicate in your transfiguration’s language. You’ll understand English, but you can’t speak it. 

Alas, look at me, a stocky old fart with greying fur and bad claws. But now,” the Maine Coon wove his paws and began to chant loudly, letting his voice boom as golden dust floated in the sky, “here I am!” With a screaming roar, the auditorium gasped as David Rossi shifted and grew, longer, taller, stronger. Where had once stoody an old, frumpy brown Feline roared a magnificent, cinnamon spice Tiger with long, pointed sabre teeth. Great silver toned claws clinked on the auditorium floor, and a thick ruffed mane hung around his throat, framing the stark mahogany stripes with fluttering silver strands. He let out a magnificent roar for effect, the students full of awe.

“My turn?” With a cocky grin, Emily followed suit. Taking a running leap as she chanted, the spell morphed her into a black Raven with long glossy feathers and a gravelly croaking cry. She flew around the room, followed moments later by a smaller creamy oatmeal colored Mourning Dove. Morgan had shot a look at Hotch who sent him back a glare. He’d then eyed Reid, who refused to meet his gaze at all and seemed to be studying an interesting run in the carpet near the toe of his left shoe. Morgan let his eyes wander before the Raven perched on the podium across from him. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was rolling her eyes.

After the classroom had emptied and they began to pack up to make their way to the dining hall, Morgan had begun to vent in earnest, running his paws through his short, trim fur on his head.

“What is it with Reid? Why doesn't he ever use transfiguration? Never uses it in the field, never goes out for a run with us. I mean, whatever his form is, it can’t be that bad.” The Retriever had shrugged, long black fur fluttering as she jogged to keep up with his brisk pace. His frustration had made his strides wider, but she stayed close to her friend.

“Maybe he doesn't like his form. Or is ashamed of it.” She thought of Hotch and how she’d come over to check on him after Foyet, how he’d let her change his dressings while he scowled at himself in the bedroom mirror, disdain for himself clear as day on his face. How Reid had bristled one day when Morgan teased him about how he’d probably turn into a beautiful bookworm. Morgan had come back to his desk minutes later to find salt in his coffee. She shook her head as she remembered the anger the Marten had tried to suppress.

“Prentiss, I would give almost anything to be able to use that spell. To be something other than a muscled steamroller.” He let out a long huff and slowed his pace as they took their places in line at the cafeteria entrance. “I’m glad I can help in any way I can, but transfiguration seems like the Holy Grail of magic, and with Reid’s talent, he’d beat us all, I know it.” Emily hmmmmed and thought back to her time in Williamstown with her mother, whose face had been one of lackluster support at Emily’s Raven form. Emily had been told transfiguration would likely be Avian due to her Siren wings… a subtle Raven was perfect for scouting and surprise attacks.

“Maybe he just wants to be seen as normal and his form makes him feel ostracized. Let it go, Morgan. And for what it's worth? You’re perfect the way you are.” Leaning back against the wall, tapping his feet, he met her gaze with an appreciative smile that didn’t entirely meet his eyes. Looking away, he huffed.

“Thanks, Prentiss.” She rubbed his shoulders around the cybernetic rectangles that slightly protruded beneath his shirt and stuck a long black feather behind his ear.

“Anytime.”

***New Year’s Eve, 2009***

When JJ had said they were going to “the coast” for New Years and invited him to join her family, Spencer was reluctant. Sandy beaches and resort towns had never really been his cup of tea. When she had explained that this location wouldn't be anything like that and pointed out he’d been dumped right before Christmas so “you have no excuse not to come,” he’d finally relented.

“Pack something warm,” she’d said. “It’s going to be cold,” she’d said. “We’re celebrating a tradition, but it’s going to be outside,” she’d said.

It was -19 right now, and he was staring at a great carved sardine suspended in the air, a stocking cap stapled to its head and an alter of brandy bottles lining the walkway leading to its final drop point. His mussed hair stuck out in small frosted curls underneath the thick black and grey wool ribbed hat Garcia had gifted him before his trip. She clearly had known what he was in for. Heavy-duty double-knit striped mittens were on his hands. A matching 12 foot scarf was liberally wrapped around his neck, face, and shoulders. Shades of oatmeal, chocolate, golds, brick, mottled aubergine, slate blue, and turtle green stripes made the scarf a focal point for the furs in the town center with them. If people were staring, Spencer didn’t give two, because he was more focused on the fact that his eyes ached. There was a frosty mist in his hair like a pale halo. Hir ears were folded under the hat tightly and his tail was coiled tightly under his flannel lined coat that JJ had gifted him for the holidays.

“Is it midnight yet?” came a muffled query from beneath the wide wooly layers. Will had smiled back at him with Henry on his shoulders, tugging his floppy brown hound ears. Henry wore a matching version of Reid’s Doctor Who scarf and mittens, only his even more modified in length to be manageable for a young Foxhound puppy.

“Not just yet,” chuckled Will beneath the oatmeal tweed scarf wrapped loosely around his face, blue eyes twinkling like the stars that surrounded them in the vast black sky around them. The view in Macquaport wasn't all bad with ice-encrusted sea shanties and frosted wharfs glittering. They stood amongst what he assumed was the entire small town, barely 600 people, staring up at the old Red & White food store. The last one in Ruicury, he speculated. The chipped, ugly grocery store had a faded vintage Schlitz sign with the tricolor bars on it, squeaking obnoxiously in the background of the cheers and racket of the crowd. As the countdown began from the raucous, half-frozen crowd, the enormous hand carved sardine with a dopey grin was lowered from the top of the store and fireworks erupting over the pristine bay. JJ let go of Will for a moment and stood shoulder to shoulder with her friend.

“Amazing isn’t it,” she said as the crowd lined up to kiss the enormous wooden sardine that had dropped and was now the subject of low-battery selfies.

“That not even remotely sanitary, I mean, the amount of bacteria is just--”

“Spence, it’s a tradition. Kiss that fish.” He stared at her, frozen tail twitching.

“I am not kissing any fish. No.”

“We’re not going back to Asio until you kiss the fish, Reid.”

“Aww but Uncle Spence, it’ll give you good luck all new year if you do! Don’t you want good luck?”

“Henry, that’s just a... “ he trailed off as he met JJ and Will’s narrowed eyes, “that’s a great idea. Let’s go up and kiss the fish. Right after Uncle Spence buys some disinfectant at the store.” After waiting their turn in line and cleaning a patch on the sardine’s snout, he puckered up and planted a light peck on it while the Jareau-Lamontagne clan cheered. 

That night at the little white inn that they’d rented, he’d stayed up a tad longer once the others had gone to bed. Henry had wanted a story, and he’d come prepared. While he could recite stories easily, there was something about holding a book with his godson. The rather large book he had brought along for just this purpose had been his mother’s, a thick hardcover classic with a royal purple dust cover and fancy white script that Henry insisted looked like his mother’s book of spells. It was one of Spencer’s most treasured volumes, and he loved that he could share the holiday magic of it with Henry. Cracking it open so it was balanced comfortably with Henry's paws around his belly and head on his chest, Spencer flipped to last chapter and began to read aloud.

_“Ring out the old, ring in the new,_  
Ring, happy bells, across the snow;  
The year is going, let him go;  
Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

__

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,  
The faithless coldness of the times;  
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,  
But ring the fuller minstrel in. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood,  
The civic slander and the spite;  
Ring in the love of truth and right,  
Ring in the common love of good. 

__Ring out old shapes of foul disease;  
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;  
Ring out the thousand wars of old,  
Ring in the thousand years of peace.” 

The rhythmic sounds of snow beating against the roof, the chanting of the poem, and the comfort of the two furs soon had lulled them both fast asleep and nestled together. When Will came down to make coffee at 4, he had draped a thick cobalt and cream plaid blanket over them and whispered to JJ, who joined him. 

“If that ain’t the kind of thing that makes you believe in the magic of holidays, I don’t know what is, Jennifuh.” She chuckled softly, summoning a spell above their heads and weaving a heart-shaped wreath of glistening tsavorite holly before kissing him deeply and pressing him against the wall of their room with a hum.

***2004***

At age 16, he had needed to care for his mother. Diana Reid was unwell, and William Reid had abandoned them for a life in destination unknown. Desperate to make money to support the two of them, a small and frail Spencer Reid had volunteered to endure scientific experiments. After signing stacks of waivers and agreements, the surgeries had begun.

Electronic implants along his spine and shoulder blades. Ports, terminals, wires. Carved like a fancy ham. His fore and hind claws elongated and reinforced with diamond-sharpened steel. His body injected repeatedly with “transfiguration-enhancers” that made him scream and retch. His spine reinforced with a light, metallic coating that was flexible. A USB port in his upper thigh. When they were done, Spencer was grateful that his mother’s care was covered for several years and that the worst of the surgeries were hidden beneath his skin. The terminals and implants down his spine were painfully visible reminders.

When Derek Morgan had asked him his second day of work if he could cast transfiguration, Spencer had bit back the rage inside and said, “I don’t know how.” He’d asked JJ for an antacid, blaming a bad batch of Florian’s dark roast. Later that afternoon, Morgan had stuck his head in Hotch’s office and asked with the subtlety of a brick what Reid’s issue was.

“He doesn’t use the spell. Whether it’s due to lack of skill or lack of interest, it’s his choice. He disclosed to Gideon and I that he doesn’t use it, so we are aware. And Morgan? Let him be about it. That fur is going to have a hard enough adjustment working here as it is. Let’s not make it more difficult for him.” 

***Early November 2009***

Aaron was paranoid. At work he was mixture of fragmented emotions put together like a broken statue glued together by honey, but at home he sat in the dark with his Sig Sauer in his paw and his chair facing the door. He vacuumed twice daily- stress made him shed more often. He consumed protein like it was candy. He worked on his melee strikes after hours until the muscles and bones in his paws ached. He went home alone and convinced himself he would put a bullet through Foyet before the Fox put his claws into anyone else. Some nights his knuckles were raw, others his voice was from screaming in his sleep. In the morning, his arm would be stretched across the other side of his bed, cold and empty and untouched. There was no stack of books on the night table, no lavender scarf draped over the corner chair, no eccentric size 13 ½ orange slippers with ornate black oriental stitchwork tucked near the foot of the bed. He avoided looking in the mirror, he didn’t need to see his face, the face of the fur who had put everyone he’d cared about in jeopardy and driven them away.

***January 2010***

Two months after Haley was in the ground, Aaron came in smelling of everything. Patchouli. Delphiniums and fruitcakes. Peaches and cream, roses and vanilla, chocolate and wine. He didn’t see the glances JJ shot Derek and he didn’t see the disappointed gaze of Dave’s that followed him down the halls at work. He certainly didn’t see Spencer’s reaction because there was none to see. The Marten had schooled his features to an unreadable mask when dealing with Hotch. When their Unit Chief went upstairs to his office, door locked and shades drawn, Spencer would let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Most of his coworkers didn’t catch it, but Emily did. On Fridays, large slabs of lemon poppyseed loaf would accompany his hot beverage from Florian’s. The slabs were always wrapped in foil and tucked into his desk, away from prying eyes, but Spencer would always murmur a soft “thank you” if he happened to pass the Retriever in the hallway.

***February 2010***

**Dr. Spencer W. Reid  
** 14 Temple Street  
Tunbridge, CUON 28J4B9 

**Dear Dr. Reid,**

**I am happy to inform you that your Initial Evaluation Report for Ruicury Foster Families has been completed. You have been approved as a Department for Cuon Fostering foster home. The following requirements for ongoing approval as a foster home have been met:**

Spencer’s mouth was dry as he read through the letter. He was thoughtful for a few moments, then began dialing Emily as he continued reading.

**You are required to attend 45 hours of training each year to maintain your foster home status. Your annual recertification month each year will be February.**

**Foster parents are a vital and essential part of our efforts to help foster puppies and kittens in need. Thank you for your support.**

**Sincerely,**

**Rhonda Baker  
** Cuon Region Administrator  
Cc: Foster parent file 

***December 2009***

There was a law text of Hotch’s that Spencer needed to look at again; he was tired and his memory needed the support. As Hotch reached for it to hand to Doctor Reid, since they’d stopped being “Aaron” and “Spencer” for awhile now, his nose had caught something, a subtle scent under the vetiver and vanilla cologne Reid wore.

Poppies. Poppies and violets.

That night, sitting in his apartment as his son slept and as reruns played on TV, Aaron found himself wondering who smelled of poppies and violets, and why he couldn't get rid of the chasm of loss that seemed to grow wider every minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CM trivia: The song "Shine A Light" is actually played on CM at the very end of S5 E18.
> 
> The poem Spencer reads Henry is "Ring Out The Old" by Tennyson.
> 
> In this au, Henry was born in 2003.
> 
> The New Year's Eve Sardine Drop is not fiction, but the brandy shrine beneath it is.


	5. Dear Sons & Daughters of Hungry Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh rust it just right in the light it's gold, it's gold, and ya know I've got water and holes in my hands; I'm a digger of holes in the land, of holes, and ya know it's the easiest way. So I go.” - Wolf Parade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the tags on this chapter.

When Emily Prentiss was 16, she and John made a choice. It was ill-advised, but most impulsive teenage decisions in hindsight are. That didn’t mean it wasn’t fun. The result was a pink plus on a piss stick, and a decision she made knowing the other half of the puppy making equation had bowed out. An abortion, as she expected, would give her back freedom. An abortion, as she expected, would haunt her emotionally. What she did not expect was that her decision would haunt her physically as well.

Beta Bleeding Disorder was a condition that affected one out of six Betas. It was a condition few Betas knew they had until they were having tests by their obstetrician, as it didn’t show until late teens and early twenties. It was a condition that, after research of her genealogy, had skipped generations. Until now. The blood, oh god, the blood. 

She had eventually been sent home with the knowledge that another pregnancy could result in a miscarriage or worse. She took birth control religiously after that, and when the nightmares came of rivers of blood and screams, she mourned the loss of her innocence and of her ability to ever have puppies again. 

***December 2009***

Spencer had been looking for witnesses when he’d walked into Cakes-A-Lot and seen an angry Tabby Cat pulling out freshly baked sugar cookies from the oven, her olive brown eyes narrowing as he’d tried unsuccessfully to converse with her. He was government, and she didn’t want him in her shop scaring her customers about some serial killer. Hurling a hot pan from her oven at him and cursing the BAU, the startled Marten had dodged and run after his business card mysteriously made its way into a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

A few days later, when the unsub had tried to kill her and a slender form had apparated behind the terrified Feline to pull her out of the way and put a bullet in the head of her abductor, she had kissed him, causing Morgan to barely hide a laugh and Dave to give Aaron a brief side-eye, but their Unit Chief was already out by the SUV, talking to JJ and Emily. After a few days, she mailed him a box of cookies to his work. It had said “For The BAU” but she knew he’d understand. He did. After another few weeks of phone calls and stopping by for hot cookies and milk, Misty Rose and Spencer Reid started dating.

Unlike Aaron, Misty was all confidence and harsh edges. Dirt brown tabby fur with steel gray mixed in, a white bib around her throat and chest, she wasn’t conventionally attractive. After being dumped by Aaron Hotchner, Spencer didn’t feel very attractive either. She was new, and exciting, and Spencer enjoyed being with someone so brutally honest and fascinating. Someone who just wanted to spend time with him and not talk about death and murder. With fiery orange and hot pink braids and a tongue ring, she understood that someone couldn’t judge a book by the cover. Poppies, violets and strands of Sweet Annie were woven in her thick braids; the smell tempted his senses. Her kisses lacked the careful, calculated precision Aaron’s had. Her tongue was rough when she kissed him, and she’d pulled his fur and took his breath away. He wasn’t sure he loved her, but he certainly liked her, and she liked him.

***

When he’d explained the home study, Misty hadn’t been as supportive as he’d hoped. She knew the tall and handsome Marten was a catch, but kittens weren’t what she wanted in her future. She wanted her bakery and her writing column and she wanted her adorkably hot BAU boyfriend. No kittens. 

Spencer didn’t beg her to change her mind but he had asked her to at least think it over. When he’d come back to her apartment on Cherry Street to find his bags packed and books in boxes, he wondered how Aaron would have reacted. Once he was officially a foster parent, he’d have to tell him anyway when he filed the dependent paperwork.

***February 2010***

She was four drinks in at Tuohy’s Pub one night in February. The alcohol wasn't working - she was miserably sober and all too aware of her loneliness. Sergio had been dead five years, cremated because an open casket for a Mutant was generally frowned upon, and in his case, impossible. Being drawn and quartered would do that. She was tired of the cold whiskey and the shitty live band. Pulling herself to her feet, she sprouted her dark wings and brazenly flew to Drummond’s.

Drummond’s was more of a club than the Irish hole she usually crawled into. A crowd surrounded the two bartenders, a black Feline with white on his chin and a lean Fisher with blue eyes and a quick sense of humor. She realized, gazing about, that most of the crowd was made up of thirty-something year old Mustelids, with assorted others who were dating or trying to mate with single Mustelids. Apparently it was half-off night for them.

A nice looking Pine Marten in a lavender button down with a rich ivy green and silver toned tie popped over to chat with the Fisher. While Emily prefered Feline companions, there was no doubt this Marten was a prize. His fur was nicely brushed and shiny, his ears groomed and tall, his tail lovely and held assertively. Abruptly, his tail curved and then went limp. When she turned to see what had made the Marten turn his attention from the bar (and the life from his tail), she saw a very handsome German Shepherd dancing with a tall, fit black Stoat. They both wore white dress shirts and pressed black slacks, though the Stoat had on suspenders, a golden yellow tie, and two gold rings in his left ear. Turning to look back at the Marten, his whiskers hung down and his ears had drooped in melancholy. Eyes blue with … pain. Mouth open, fixed in an expression of heartbreak. She turned and looked at the Shepherd again, and bitterness tainted the flavor of her neon orange drink. 

She watched Aaron Hotchner dance with Spencer’s replacement, the two grooving with a practiced ease, almost professional even in this most relaxed atmosphere. They were having fun and had eyes only for each other. She held her breath when Aaron kissed the Stoat - it wasn’t passionate, but there was mutual affection in it. It felt so… polite. 

She doubted, suddenly, that Reid was a polite kisser. She doubted he danced with such a rehearsed candor. An epiphany struck Emily Mae Prentiss in that moment that reverberated into her very core.

She realized, with great clarity, that she wanted to know how Spencer Reid danced and she wanted him to know how someone who saw him for the treasure he was would kiss.

That night, as he lay wrapped in her arms in bed, his carmel-brown fur dark in patches from sweat and his glowing hazel eyes blown wide with lust, she kissed him. It was not polite. It was full of all the passion, lust, honesty, and trust that she felt for the fur in her arms. _You're more_ , she screamed in her mind. _You're more_ , she sang in her blood pumping wild in her veins. _You're more_ , she cried as she let her wings pump in ecstasy and her heart ring out. _You're more than he deserved._

“That,” she had whispered in his ear as he crumpled on top of her and slumped alongside her on the bed, his chest heaving and a tired smile spread across his blissful face, “is how you deserve to be loved, Spencer Reid.”

*** March 2010 ***

When Emily Prentiss had told JJ that she was better at compartmentalization than some, she didn't mention that she could have a wall of fucking trophies with her name etched on them from Compartmentalization Olympics. If Spencer hadn't spent Friday night on the coffee table, on the kitchen counter, pressed against the bedroom window, on all fours in the shower, and face down begging in her bed, he would have assumed she had done nothing all weekend but watch Golden Girls reruns and macrame. Her face was a functional mask, and when she walked through the doors of the sixth floor, she was Agent Prentiss and he was Doctor Spencer Reid. He knew she liked medium caramel macchiatos and she knew he liked extra large triple triples with extra sugars on the side. She knew victimology and he knew maps. She grew ivies and he nursed an ailing cactus.

He was careful with them when it became clear there was a _them_ building - not just chinese food and cheap Biera Moretti on every Tuesday, then coming over every other day, then every day. By that point dinners were often homemade, both teasing each other with exotic culinary delights. The sugar-dusted deep-fried chocolate curry buns, the tuna scallopini with fresh parsley and pomegranate seeds … it wasn't a competition, it was an expression of creativity Spencer had never enjoyed explored. At work he was amiable enough, but at home, he was happier than he’d been in many months.

*

Dave had been packing up for the night when he decided to test Reid’s waters. He had been there for Aaron when the two had split, but it had been three months since he’d spent quality time with the younger fur. 

“Hey Spence, I’m making pancetta this weekend. What do you say to an aged cabernet sauvignon, perfecto bruschetta, and some Charlie Chaplin?” Smiling warmly and grabbing his coat, Spencer looked up and met his colleague’s green eyes.

“Thanks Rossi, but I actually have plans this weekend. Thank you for thinking of me, though. Definitely another time!” He walked off, a spring in his step and a flicker to his tail. When the faint echo of whistling came from the parking lot, Dave let his jaw fall open slightly, then smiled.

\------

“Did you enjoy your pancetta with Reid the other night?” Aaron was finishing some paperwork for Strauss when Dave came in to pilfer coffee from his stash. Stash, Aaron knew, that Dave had bought him in the first place. Biting back a smile, Dave weighed his response carefully.

“You know, he declined. We decided to have dinner another time.” Slurping his tar black brew, he pretended not to see the Shepherds head, ears, and eyebrows perk up. Draining the mug, Dave was marginally surprised Hotch was still staring at him, paperwork forgotten.

“He declined.” Despite the disbelief on his face, it was a quiet statement. Aaron’s mind was racing. Spencer enjoyed Dave’s company, and had never refused an invite before. Never. Dave knew he was about to open a box best left closed, but spoke as though he were discussing the weather. 

“Yeah, he declined. Said he had plans. I’m gonna try him again on Monday, I really think he’ll enjoy the movie I found.” Aaron’s eyes were alternating between staring into space and studying his former lover in the bullpen. Spencer was talking to Morgan about a book he had found and devoured, waving an arm in delight as he drank his coffee. He seemed normal, or as normal as Spencer could be. 

“Huh.” Glancing back at Dave, Aaron went back to his forms, shifting back into what Dave considered “work mode.”

“Yeah. Well, I brought Emily leftovers, and you too since you don't eat worth shit anymore. We’re eating at the picnic tables today if you want to come.”

“Mmm.” Taking the out for what it was, Dave waved a ciao and walked down to the others.

\------

Aaron was munching the bruschetta with Dave when Spencer and JJ came over to them with their lunches. 

“You missed out, kid.” Spencer smiled and nodded, eyeing Dave’s plate. 

“No kidding. That looks great. If you’re up for Tuesday, I’m free.” He pulled out his blue tupperware and a plastic spoon, stirring his food. JJ was enjoying a bowl of rich orange soup with grilled ham and cheese courtesy of Garcia’s panini maker.

“You brought butternut soup too, huh?” she teased, sweeping & stealing a clean spoonful. She stared at him as she swallowed, eyes widening. The other two furs watched in amusement. “Wait, this isn’t butternut. Spence, this is incredible. What is this?”

“Thai ginger carrot coconut soup with lemongrass and basil. There’s some tumeric in there, too.” JJ stared at him, then handed him a worn memo pad and a pen. 

“Recipe. Now. You have an eidetic memory so don't tell me that you don’t know it.” Smiling bashfully, Reid started to write. Dave quirked a look at Aaron, who had stopped eating and seemed to have lost his voice as well as appetite.

“Since when do you cook? I’ve seen your apartment, kid, you keep the Chinese restaurant down the street in business.” Morgan had taken some bruschetta as well, eyeing Spencer carefully. In the months the Rottweiler had known him, even when he’d been with Hotch, Reid had never cooked more than a cup of mac and cheese. Grinning and pointing to his head, Reid began.

“It’s nothing. I mean, the history of ginger is quite something, but between the tumeric and the carrots it’s perfect for staying alert, AND it’s practically a superfood and comfort food combined, because the…” As he began to twitch his whiskers, chitter, and move his spoonless arm about, Emily barely hid a grin from behind her mouthful of pizza.

***Late April, 2010***

“But we used protection!” Spencer was pacing in shock, Emily slumped forward in her arm chair. “This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

“Well, this piss stick proves that it happened, and someone has a sense of humor. Terrible, terrible humor.” Breaking down into tears, she put her head in her paws and made a noise she wished she could keep inside. “This won’t end well.”

It didn’t end well. Like their relationship, they decided to keep the pregnancy a secret, but when Emily had to leave work suddenly one afternoon on her lunch break due to “indigestion,” Reid had driven her to the ER, holding her hand while breaking the speed limit as she screamed while blood soaked her slacks and the blankets he’d wrapped her in. As he rocked in his seat in the waiting room, praying to a god he didn’t believe, he began to drive his claws into the crook of his arm until his own blood began to stain his shirt.

Emily took some time off to visit family, stating her mother had an emergency come up, and Elizabeth Prentiss appropriately corroborated the story. When Spencer came in the next day with dark circles under his eyes and an extra mug of coffee, he’d simply confirmed that Emily had just not been feeling well, but was worried about her mother. Passing his own exhaustion off as staying up late to work on a ship in a bottle (a gift from Rossi), the others had believed it. Dave had kept an eye on him throughout the day and the few that followed.

*

Spencer had lost almost fifteen pounds. Morgan hard started commenting on Reid’s eating habits, or rather his lack of eating. The young fur just stared out at the map, working the geographical profile, but his paw went up to the crook of his elbow now and then. A pained scratch and a shameful turn of his head, and he was back at the map. Dave had watched Hotch begin to watch Reid more closely, concerned for their youngest.

“He doesn’t like to ask for help, Dave.” 

“You don’t say. Don’t worry, Aaron. I’ll bring the help to him.”

*

“Talk,” Dave had said, putting down a bowl of blue cheese and asparagus gnocchi. 

“Talk,” Dave had said, moving the decanter of wine closer to the young doctor.

“Talk,” Dave had said, after Reid had finally found his appetite and had devoured the meal in front of him. 

“Sleep,” Dave had murmured as he’d tucked the exhausted fur into the guest bedroom and left him to dream a better dream than he had in weeks. When Emily came back, they were still checking on each other, though cooking began again as a trio. Over Nonna Ana Rossi’s tortellini soup, they began to rebuild, knowing a rainbow would find its way to them some day. One Friday afternoon as he was filing with Anderson and Sharp in the archives, his phone chimed. Faint but resiliant, there was a rainbow peaking through.


	6. I'll Believe in Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Give me your eyes, I need sunshine." - Wolf Parade

***July 2010***

Danica had come home on a Wednesday. It had nearly taken an act of Dave to keep the team away (threats of harm from JJ had been more effective), but Spencer got the approved twelve weeks off to spend with her and let them both acclimate to being a family for a few months. As his foster pup in a three month family reunification program, he was grateful to have all three months away. His apartment was a shade of green he was fond of… the darker tone and wood accents of his apartment had always reminded him of being up in the trees. Danica though, with her beady eyes and long thick whiskers and tiny webbed paws that clung to his slim, boney forepaws as he walked her to his Amazon, was full of uneasy silence. At night she cried and hugged the plush ginger kitten her “Uncle Spencer” had given her and shoved the diary he’d bought her under the nightstand, reading one of the leatherbound classic books from the living room by a flashlight under her covers. She was polite but nervous, though she had taken a shine to Spencer immediately with Rhonda Baker and the rest of her team.

There were several behaviors Spencer had braced for, and when the crying happened more often than with most pups her age, he had expected it. Her mother lived a high risk lifestyle, getting high off opiods and bringing home strange furs, and Danica had spent years wishing for a parent who would play with her and spend time with her doing mother-daughter things. Instead, the pup had a skewed idea of what family normalcy was. She was used to watching movies as an alternative to spending time with family, so when her Uncle Spencer had taken up reading to her from memory while they both (tried to) learn how to braid her hair, it had woken a sense of adventure in her. He was a great storyteller, and she loved how he just knew everything. After particularly painful two nights consisting of dozens of broken elastics, bent combs, frustration, and sore paws, Spencer Reid had to admit that he would find the cure to his mother’s illness before he ever could braid a nine year old’s hair.

“What do you think most mothers would do if they couldn’t even braid their pup’s hair,” he’d asked JJ and Emily miserably over the phone.

“Probably take a spa day,” they had joked in unison. After both had offered suggestions and even suggested coming over to braid his foster daughter’s hair (which he shot down), Spencer called Sal’s Salon on East and Main. A few days later to celebrate their first two weeks together, they had gone to get their hair cut. 

“I want that one,” Danica had pointed out, her thick claw tapping on a photo of a Burmese with a pixie cut. It was spiked with gel and the model had a gleaming smile, one that Spencer thought would be good for a toothpaste ad. 

“No more braiding?” He’d feigned hurt feelings and she’d burst out laughing. Bringing it down to an inside voice as he gently admonished, she covered her face and giggled, then tugged at his long locks. 

“I can still try to braid yours.” A look of mock horror and she was smiling from ear to ear even wider. 

“You know,” the stylist chirped as she finished trimming his facial fur and went to begin painting the Otter pup’s claws a violet orchid shade, “you both could get short hair. Then your hair would be almost the same length when you’re ready to braid it again.” Sharing a glance and seeing the delight in Danica’s eyes, Spencer couldn’t say no. Sighing, he pointed to the style books next to Danica on the coffee table.

“Pass them over... you have to help Uncle Spencer find the right trim.”

*

One fur who had reached out to him was Jessica Brooks. She had been deeply supportive of he and Aaron's relationship, and she was still a kind friend. While Aaron had kept a respectable distance from Reid as he adjusted to becoming a single dad, he had still struggled, and Jessica didn't doubt her brother-in-law missed the handsome doctor more than he'd ever admit. He'd been pleasantly surprised and supportive when Reid had turned in the dependent paperwork and had stressed to his former boyfriend that any help or advice was only a call away. Jessica had come over with a dish of taco bake, Jack's favorite comfort food, and Spencer had been impressed with how much Danica had eaten; her appetite was only fair most days. 

He hadn't been keeping the team at bay, but he had wanted Danica to adjust to the almost pack dynamic of his team. JJ and Morgan had both briefly visited with some age appropriate toys but respected Spencer's requests to not spoil or overwhelm Danica. Dave dropped off a meal and sweets twice a week. Emily visited on weekends with a regular board and card game night and subs from her and Spencer's favorite local deli. 

Jessica mostly called or texted to check on her friend. One afternoon, while Spencer had confirmed Danica was taking a nap after a stressful morning of therapy, she had come by with a large box of books. 

"They were Haley's; Aaron and I found them in the garage. She had them boxed away so they aren't anything we want to keep, but you might enjoy one." They were mostly fiction, but he had politely accepted them and given her a hug.

"Thanks for thinking of me, Jess."

That night, long after Danica was asleep, he thumbed through the books. A few were quite good, and he set them aside gently. As he opened one of the boxed volumes, a set of five photos fell out on the floor, tumbling near his hindpaws. Reaching down, he moved to set them aside to give to Hotch, but stopped and looked closer at them. Looking at the background and the furs in it, he rubbed a forepaw over his face and pulled his whiskers. After debating setting them on fire, he put them back in the book and put it on his shelf. He wasn't sure what to think about what he'd just seen, but he'd hold off on doing anything for now. 

***

"Well, hello."

He'd popped in a few days later into the office to drop off paperwork and get a few items from his desk when JJ waved to him from the roundtable room. Poking his head in, he tried to keep a humble smile at the reactions. Hotch's eyes had given a twice-over, and Morgan had nodded approvingly. Emily caught Dave taking in Hotch's expression. As Reid parked next his boss for a second, the Shepherd met and held his gaze.

“What, did you join a boyband?” 

“Whaa-- No.” 

*

"Reid, can I see you in my office?” It was after the team had dispersed, and Aaron was nervous. Tickets to see the latest sci fi movie were tucked in his coat. His focus returned as the Marten knocked, then entered. Standing respectfully at attention, Hotch motioned for his subordinate to sit down. 

“How are you, Reid?” The Marten tilted his head and looked at Aaron carefully, but smiled.

“Pretty well. My target practice has improved and cases have been being resolved as well as they can. I think it’s been a good month.” Hotch nodded, smiling slightly.

“Spencer, I didn’t mean about work.” Spencer’s fur had bristled at the use of his given name. The smile was gone, and Aaron began to wonder how bad an idea this had been. “I wanted to know if you would come with me to the movies Friday, if we don't have a case. I’ve missed you, and I'd like it if you would join me. Jessica would be willing to visit with Danica. I could pick you up at your place on Spring Street and--” He stopped when he saw Spencer’s tail swishing.

“I don't live there anymore, Hotch.” He watched his boss recoil a bit, then continued. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested.” The _“in you”_ was left unspoken, but Aaron felt it. “Was that all?” Keeping his face neutral, Aaron nodded.

“Yes, that’s all--” Reid was out of his office before he could finish, and Aaron looked at the open door for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh and shutting it.

*

While circling the halfway point of Danica’s stay, Spencer had felt a lump forming in his throat. Looking around the little room full of paintings of deer and fields and the ocean and of a smiling David Rossi, Spencer had snapped a photo and sent it to his friend.

8:45 PM __/__/10 text initiated  
**SR:** [image attached]

 **DR:** Maybe we could get her some gallery space. You never know. I mean, look at the shading of my ears. I look 35 again.

 **SR:** She must’ve painted that one after you’d had coffee.

***August 2010***

Taking a nine year old into a coffee shop seemed like a relatively simple task. Danica had been to stores and restaurants with him before, but Florian’s was a cornucopia of colors, smells, and indie music. Initially, Reid was nervous to take her into such a place, but he was constantly astonished at how well she was adjusting. He’d read the books, her file, everything, he could recite it. She’d been a bit clingy at first, afraid of the number of strangers that seemed to magically know her "Uncle Spencer” and the constant texting. Now, two months later and becoming a bit more confident, she’d started calling Reid "Papa" which had initially startled him and filled him with awe. Her biological father was a mystery and never a part of her life, but calling a temporary father figure “Dad” was too much. "Papa" it was, and Spencer loved the name. While he’d perused the bakery window, he watched Danica’s eyes hyperfocus on one specific tray. After buying them each a cake pop and iced lemonade, the two of them went to a park to play.

Otters loved slides, and Danica came out of her shell at the park. Bright orange curvy and tunnel slides with fun cobalt blue metal frames made her smile and when her Poppi was hanging from his hindpaws on the monkey bars making funny faces, she laughed with delight. As Spencer swung back and forth and made funny smiles at her with his arms out to catch her and hug her, his sweater vest and shirt came untucked, giving the playful pup access to his belly. He nearly lost his balance as she tickled him cautiously in little bursts, then running up and kissing him on the nose. Unfurling a long red kite with an impressive sea serpent design of iridescent blues and greens from Diana Reid, they had struggled together to get it up in the air. When at last it took flight, they ran and cheered, Danica reveling in the encouragement. As they lay on the grass together laughing, she ran her forepaws through his short hair and snuffled her nose in it.

“What’re you doing, Danica?”

“Papa, your hair smells like vanilla.” He burst out laughing and shoved his nose in her bristly bobby-pinned hair, listening to her laugh.

“Well, yours smells like.... Danica!”

“Because _I’m_ Danica! Papa, you’re silly.”

“Do you want to go get dinner with Uncle Dave and Aunt Emma?”

“YEAH!” jogging to the car, laughing together, they went off to see their friends.

*

If any of the kids in the BAU were asked over their childhoods whose house was the best house, Uncle Dave’s was it. The cozy mansion with too many guest rooms, too many books, and a grand kitchen that made everyone want to grow up to be a chef was like a second home. Jack loved visiting Dave with Henry, the two furs eating his homemade anisette cookies that were his great great great grandmother’s recipe. Both boys were the reason Dave had set up target practice for Aaron and JJ to give their sons a change of scenery while they practiced sniping. There was a small side shed next to a wooden “playhouse” where a pair of red bicycles were parked for them to take and explore the nearby paths and trails. When Danica came home, Dave’s first purchase had been for a hot pink tween bike to join the red ones.

Danica also became the favorite. She wanted to learn to cook, and while her Papa taught her what he knew, as she grew she wanted to learn more, especially as she watched her Uncle Dave make orecchiette and ravioli. 

“That’s not what they sell in the store, Uncle Dave,” she had pointed out with paws on her hips and a small frown that made Emily mentally howl and think of Reid more than anything. 

“Not many people make it by hand anymore,” he lamented. “It’s a dying art. But if you can make it, oh, the things you can do. Come here, let’s try some things.”

“Patience, grasshopper,” Spencer had whispered in her ears as she tried to roll the dough. “Careful now,” he’d called as she’d tried to grab the cleaver from Emily, who was trying to hide a devious chuckle as this small Otter ran about, wanting to see and taste everything, wanting to learn and absorb every bit of knowledge. Watching Spencer Reid bent over in a striped apron next to his foster daughter in a gingham patched one with her tiny rolling pin and toy spatulas, she didn’t think she’d ever loved him more. While Danica wasn’t his blood, she was very much his daughter in every other way. 

***Mid-September 2010***

When two and a half months had hit, Spencer was asked to come by Rhonda Baker’s office. Plunking down, he tapped his fingers. The agency had been supportive, checking in with him often and steering him towards resources he had sometimes utilized. His team was full of great parents, but a network of fellow foster parents had proven to be a golden lifeline. For the most part, he and Danica had done just fine, and she loved her Papa as he loved his foster pup.

“Dr. Reid, a pleasure as always to see you. I appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to come in on such short notice.” Spencer smiled. He loved meeting with Ms. Baker, she was a straight shooter.

“No problem. Is there an update on Danica’s parents?” 

“Yes. As you know, the goal was family unification. However, Danica's mother has decided she is no longer looking to reunite. This happens sometimes--”

"She doesn’t want her back?!! Whaa, why?” His eyes flashed; this wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t impossible, but…

“--sometimes, the parent decides the best place for the pup is not back with them. After a long talk with Danica’s mother, caseworkers, and discussing all options, the Region of Cuon and our office all agree that Danica and her mother should not be united for the best of Danica's wellbeing.” Spencer felt lost. His face was twisted in in grief and conflict, his mind whirring. Taking off her glasses and looking him straight in the eye, Ms. Baker cleared her throat and continued.

“Dr. Reid, you have been a wonderful foster parent to Danica. She has blossomed under your care and you have been positive influences on each other. I dare say that fatherhood has done wonders for you as well. However, we also told you this would be a three month placement, and we plan to honor that original timeline out of fairness to you. You have your job, and Danica looks to be a good fit with another family. We’ll be in touch in another day with more details, but myself and the rest of our team appreciate all you’ve done.” Spencer looked up at her, out of his reverie.

“Actually, I… I’d like to suggest another idea, if you have a few more minutes?”

An hour and a half later, Spencer was sprinting from the office and headed to Caggige’s Deli for subs and Pepsi. It was going to be a very, very long weekend.

*

Aaron Hotchner was surprised when he drove to Spencer’s new apartment and no one was home. Homemade taco bake and cold drinks in the front seat, he frowned. He called Reid - still listed as “Pen” under his directory - and listened to it go to voicemail. Waiting a little longer, he tried Emily.

“Yeah Hotch?” She propped the phone on her shoulder, shoot a glance to a cheerful Otter pup cheering “Auntie Emma, come ‘n get yer submarine!” Hotch realized he could hear the Beatles playing in the background.

“Sounds like a party. Is Reid there? I didn’t realize he wasn’t going to be home.” Aaron felt awkward. He had known Emily and Spencer were good friends and hung out now and then, but he felt intrusive. As the phone was passed, he heard a hushed “it's for you, its Hotch. Yes, _Hotch._ No idea.”

“Hotch? Is everything okay?” Aaron cursed himself mentally. _Hotch, no longer Aaron._

“Hey, I’m at your place and brought dinner. I didn't realize you had plans; I called but it went to voicemail. I’m sorry to bother you.” There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Reid?”

“Ah, sorry. I turned off the phone when I had an… appointment earlier. It ran long. This was a bit impromptu, so … yeah. Uhm, thank you for dinner, though. I'm sorry I missed you.”

“No problem, I'll put it in the fridge at work and you can grab it then. Enjoy your night.”

“You too, Hotch.”

*

“Her mother would rather stay how she is than let Danica come back permanently. They've nixxed family unification completely. I decided I couldn't let her get shuffled off on another family for three months and another for three months and another for--” he threw his paws in the air as his eyes flickered and whiskers bobbed. “I told them I want to adopt her, and I met with a lawyer. Danica’s staying with me until the paperwork is made official.” Dave leaned back in his chair and whistled.

“You're serious?”

“More serious than I've ever been. I’ve never been so sure of anything as I am now.”

“Good. I don't want that pup going anywhere.” Smiling, Spencer passed a small card over to the senior Coon Cat. As he read it, he made a soft gasp. Tears sparkled in his deep green eyes, and Dave reached for his best scotch.

“To Uncle Dave becoming Godfather Dave.” Both grinned with emotion as the glasses clinked.

“Cheers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busy season at work has hit= likely no updates for another month or two.
> 
> As always, thank you for your support and for reading. :)


	7. It's A Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We walked five whole minutes to the dark edge of town, took a long, long look at nothing and we turned back around.” Wolf Parade

 *** Late December 2005***

The Red Fang, or Redvers McDonald, plagued the small city of Thetford on the eastern Cryntal-Cuon border for 48 hours. He was an injustice collector in his mid-40’s, a sexually frustrated beta male silver Wolf that had been terrorising his past employers and ex-girlfriends. If a body count of eight wasn’t bad enough, he was also infected with the lycanthropy virus. A heavily spiritual city with dozens of plots of hallowed ground sporadically placed, Thetford saw a lycanthrope as a demonic plague even more so than other areas.

JJ, to her credit, had done wonders with keeping the press in their place, utilizing her natural Canine beauty and ever on-point professional “sweet voice” to show empathy and paint the unsub as a fur who was suffering from the advanced auto-immune disease, not a drooling, howling psychopath who lost control for 48 hours every month and had finally hit a breaking point.

The city of Thetford was only fifteen minutes from the rocky crags of the mountains, and was a truly picaresque city. A blanket of rich, dense forest surrounded it on three sides like wall, making it feel like a pure country gem tucked away on the border. The fourth side was open and melded small city dwelling with open farmland and rolling green and tan fields. White painted churches and a large raspberry crop added to its natural beauty. Covered in a blanket of pure white powder. In a rare move, Hotch and Gideon had called Penelope in.

Their technical analyst, she was responsible for helping the team beyond what they themselves could accomplish alone. The plucky AI had been purchased back in 2004. While she was generally plugged into their network back in Asio, on rare occasions she would be placed inside an Eskimo Canine android body Anderson and Sharp had set up just for her. A perfect pink cardigan topped off her white sheath dress with pink damask designs. Matching pink kitten heels with white marabu and tiny iridescent rhinestones bedecked the android’s feet. Bold pink two-tone glasses rested on her face. Despite Gideon’s objections a year ago when she had been installed, Hotch had insisted having a “friendly” android would improve the office morale, not to mention make their analytics better. If not for her jerky walking style and glowing ethereal blue irises, she could pass as a real fur, and the team treated Penelope as though she were. Tearing through Reid’s geographical profile, Emily and Morgan’s interviews, and Dave and JJ’s notations from the ME, the little AI’s blue eyes whirred and hummed. Reviewing the information she had been able to get them about McDonald, he was definitely a lone Wolf that with proper caution and planning, their team could take. They just had to find him before he struck again.

After a day and a half of working from the Thetford field office and networking with local Detective LaMontagne, they’d found the son of a bitch’s trail thanks to an anonymous tip. They had taken chase after finding that he’d been enjoying sanctuary in an old, rural camp deep in the woods near a small pinewood church, the kind of place that admittedly screamed foreboding. The LEOs braced at the mouth of Journey’s End road, half a mile from the church. Noses to the ground, Hotch and Morgan led the way while Reid lept from tree to tree. Higher up, JJ and Prentiss had used transfiguration and were flying parallel overhead. The petite Dove soared over Hotch and Reid on the right, Raven over Gideon and Morgan. The scent was still strong, and they plowed through the snow, silver bullets in their guns and fire in their bellies.

As the unsub lured them further into the woods, deep white snow had initially made tracking him easy. As the wind had picked up, the Shepherd had braced himself and fought to keep the trail, ears pinned against his head and tail down as he endured the arctic blast. When he heard the howl, his blood ran cold. The smell of multiple furs began to accumulate, and he realized that while their killer was hunting and killing alone, the hunted Wolf’d brought back-up when Aaron Hotchner and his team had come knocking on the door, so to speak. The scents of five other wolves without the lycanthropy virus wafted from the other side of the depths of the woods, and Hotch had relayed the information to his team frantically, adrenaline coursing through their bodies. 

It was a trap.

A raw bark, and Hotch had ordered his team to abort and run for cover. This wasn’t the kind of situation that anyone would argue with - a non-Canine getting infected with lycanthropy would not survive long, and a Canine getting bit would be infected for life. Nothing in the world, or JJ or Emily’s healing spell tomes, could ever change that. Reid had disapparated instantly with Gideon into the nearby church, the holy sanctuary a natural shelter from dark creatures courtesy of the sacred laws of hallowed ground. Prentiss had flown far back and perched up into the church’s belltower. JJ had followed suit, almost invisible against the white backdrop.

“Morgan, you need to get out of here…” He wouldn’t let these monsters hunt his team.

“Hotch, man, c’mon, you too.” Morgan had stood alongside his unit chief for a minute, stubborn and loyal with wide cordovan eyes, until Hotch reminded him desperately what was at stake. With a low, reluctant but understanding whine, Morgan beat a steady retreat, the falling snow now up to his chest.

His team safe from harm, out of sight and out of range, Hotch debated, then decided to hold his ground. The Wolves, he could sense, were powerful but if he could kill the unsub with the silver bullets in both his guns, it would end this. Following the scent trail only a few feet further in, he stopped, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the furs. Readying his gun, he fired into the swirling white.

He missed. A bark, then a snarl and snapping of teeth as a great silver Wolf slammed into him, dizzying pain shooting through his body. Hotch fought back, tearing at his aggressor from the side while the other Wolves fanned out at a distance, watching Redvers McDonald knock him over. Blood spattered on the pure snow as his claws ripped the neck and flank of the unsub, tearing flesh and hot spurting blood soaking his paws and the cuffs of his shirt. He felt the thrum of fight or flight in his heart. He rolled and tried to turn over, not wanting to be in a supine stance anywhere near the unsub or his furs. He had to put distance between them, and fast. Dirty paws clutched at the snowy path, but the snow was dense and wet, fallen earlier that day and the frozen sluice made traction difficult. Failing to break into a run fast enough, he was thrown against the trunk of a spruce tree, teeth rattling in his skull and gun knocked away somewhere into the deep slush out of his sight and reach. There were two choices then, the same two he’d had before: fight or flight. Reaching for his Sig Sauer at his ankle, Hotch fired desperately into the crimson-marred silver streak and roared, first in rage and adrenaline, then in horrific pain as the Wolf’s sharp fangs punctured his shoulder, cracking his collarbone, heavy paws caked with ice crystals trapping Hotch to the tree as he screamed while he felt his blood begin to pour down his shirt and vest. He could feel the warmth leaving him, the cold of it pooling under his vest and soaking his clothes. Time slowed. The unsub had _bit_ him, and cold dread struck- Hotch knew it was too late. The damage was done. Unable to struggle due to shock and terror, the Shepherd barked weakly, his body failing his control. His head felt heavy and he felt... free.

Free as the Wolf fell over, doubled over as the pure silver in the bullets finished pouring their venom through his nervous system and rendering him dead. Free as the other Wolves uttered cries of panic as a blood curdling wild howl tore through the woods and _something_ pursued them to their ends. In his addled state, all he could see was that it had been an enormous brownish _beast_ , with a fearsome monstrous roar that made him moan and whimper in dread. Whatever it was, it wasn’t natural, and deep fear clutched him harder, the cold seeping into every part of him as he heard the Wolves being ripped into shreds. He vaguely noticed the light flutter of Dove wings on his good shoulder and then holly branches cradling him, the bleeding gashes clotting. Hours and even days later, sitting with Dave and Reid in his office, he still couldn’t remember anything clearly from the time he’d screamed from the bite to the time he’d looked up to see JJ smiling sadly as she’d mended his bones. The agony had sent his vision into a blur.

What he did remember, besides the monster, was that after he’d come to from JJ healing him, he’d noticed in his periphery a thundering black and tan mass of muscle propelling himself under the lone surviving snarling Wolf and launched it skyward with his bulk and shoulder-mounted turrets; as it fell, Hotch struggled painfully to his feet and charged at the at the beast, trying to further dodge snapping jaws. As the Wolf fought to find its footing, Hotch’s teeth struck home and blood poured over the plush black ruff, pooling beneath the crumpled form. It wasn’t the bastard that had caught him, but it was still revenge. Morgan had let out a whine as his boss had shaken himself off, then collapsed. A look of misery spread across his face before unconsciousness claimed him - he was infected.

***Late December 2005, continued***

With Strauss’ recommendation, an agent was approved to stay by Aaron if he were to ever use the transfiguration spell himself or more importantly, if his lycanthropy took over. More than that he was allowed to remain in the bureau (and as unit chief!), Aaron had been floored that Spencer Reid was the one tasked with managing his lycanthropy.

He’d invited the Marten into his office and laid out the plan for Reid’s transfiguration training when Reid sharply cut him off, rage radiating from his slim frame and fixing Aaron with an increasingly hostile glare with glowing green eyes.

“I’m _not_ using transfiguration. I know the spell; it’s never going to happen. I’m going to use the animagus spell instead, so don’t even _bother_ continuing; you’re _insane_ if you think I’m using _that spell._ ” Hotch had never heard Reid speak so sharply to him or to anyone for that matter; he had bristled and went to speak but the kid was halfway to the bullpen before he could get a word out. Shooting Gideon an _I have no idea what hornet’s nest I just put my foot in_ look, Gideon quietly approached and leaned into the doorway.

“The kid’s not gonna fail you, and neither is the rest of this team. Just… look, _maybe_ you’re not the only one who doesn’t like transfiguration. The kid had a rough childhood.” Giving Gideon the patented Hotch Glare, Aaron turned and looked out the window at Spencer, who was following JJ out the door to what he assumed was a mochaccino run. His expression turned pensive as he reflected on what little he knew of Reid’s family history.

*

As it turned out, with Gideon’s help and some research in the archives, the animagus spell and trigger tattoo were able to successfully activate within a week and a half. Using a magic inner in downtown Asio and the two agents’ notes, Reid’s right forearm was shaved and the tattoo was delicately etched in black with thick, bold curves. It resembled the sound hole on a violin but with sharper edges. As a narrow-boned Coyote animagus, Reid could speak to Aaron’s lycanthrope form as a fellow magical Canine, and provide an addition line of defense to the rest of the team should things truly go south. Of course, if Aaron bit him, it would still be fatal since he was a Marten. Reid had still been willing to sign off as Hotch's keeper, and was in charge of making wolfsbane potions to manage the lycanthropy. Aaron kept a logbook for accountability to the bureau, and showed it to Spencer daily.

*

The first full moon was the worst. Locked in a reinforced bunker in an isolated area, Aaron had howled and screamed until daylight. Spencer had slipped clean water and raw meat through a slot under the door, but the howling would start back up throughout the night.

As a lycanthrope, Aaron couldn’t talk to his team. His snarls, barks, and growls were gibberish in this new form, and to be unable to use his gift of communication was more unbearable than the physical pain he felt when he shifted. It took so long compared to the swift, painless shifting of transfiguration. So much pain! As a Canine, he felt as comfortable on all fours as on twos. As a lycanthrope, his physiology was contorted so that his running was at an awkward gait. He longed to be normal. He howled mournfully, miserable at being cut off from his team, his family, and the English language. He had briefly considered suicide when he’d been infected. Now that he was actually enduring the changes from the virus, he momentarily reconsidered it.

Running his forepaws over the long black animagus tattoo along his arm, Spencer murmured the spell and shifted into his animagus form. He had never liked transfiguration, and something more long term like the animagus ability was a far better deal. He could speak to Hotch in this form, but also in English, a safe bridge between the team and their isolated unit chief.

Spencer liked what he was. While the racism Mustelids faced bothered him as much as the next fur, he loved being a Pine Marten, leaping in the trees and savoring the air at a higher altitude than most of his friends. Changing this form, hiding who he was, he hated it, but as his body shifted into a slender Coyote, he reminded himself that this was for his friends. For Aaron. He couldn’t be selfish, not now. A yipping, chirping howl broke Aaron out of his misery for a moment.

“Hello. It’s Reid. I’ve performed the animagus spell so we can talk. How do you physically feel? Start with your head.”

“I… my head is fine. I’m hungrier than I want to be. My throat hurts. I just feel… _wrong._ It was like a severe muscle pain at first but I just feel wrong. Like this shouldn’t be, no, like I shouldn’t be like this. I just…” His voice became choked with emotion, and Spencer held back a whine. Hotch needed the support. “You miss being you.”

“Yeah.” Silence stretched out between them, and if it wasn’t for being able to hear the other fur’s breathing he’d have assumed he had drifted off to sleep. Finally, Aaron broke the silence.

“What… tell me… tell me what you look like.” Spencer’s brain whirred, _where had **that** come from?_ It was a naturally curious question, he supposed.

“Uhm, well. I’m uhm, I’m a Coyote, so I … I mean, I look like a Coyote, I guess?” Aaron chuckled at his subordinate’s awkwardness, but Spencer was flustered more than he’d imagined.

“My Dad, when he performed transfiguration, he was a Coyote too. Our fur is mostly the same color, but for some reason he had brown accents, and I have, well… they’re kind of reddish. I guess, uhm, I’m kind of brown and tan with those.” Aaron made a _hrmmm_ sound and now Spencer heard his breathing shift. He was laying down now, sprawled out in the nest of straw and pine that Spencer had made for him. Driving his nose in and taking a deep whiff of the younger fur’s scent, Aaron began to let sleep pull him under.

“Rreid?” It was semi-slurred with sleepiness, and Spencer curled nearer to the door, listening with large golden ears.

“Yeah, Hotch?”

“Please... don’t stop talking to me.” Spencer wasn’t sure what to say, but clearly his unit chief needed to know he could still communicate. Thinking back on what he knew, he decided Hotch might appreciate Yeats. Even when he heard the gentle snoring from the other side of the bunker door, he continued until he was lost in a dream himself.

***

Aaron had never wanted to use transfiguration. His father’s form had been cruel. A fierce, drunken Meadowlark, all rage and tiny claws. To most, the sight of the colorful songbird was nothing to fear, but any visit to Barnet where they were a common sighting put him on edge at the sound of their song. He remember coming home from school to a shrill scream and the drunken beak drilling behind his ears, the little claws tearing his tail, the firm wings too close to his face. He had done his best to live the opposite of how his father had been internally, but he’d also studied and honed his magic in terror of learning transfiguration only to become what his father was physically,

Having made it through his first two months since he’d been infected, he’d decided (at Reid’s urging) that he should give transfiguration a try, as he might like his form. A form he could enjoy. When he tried the spell outside, near the quiet lakes of his home in Tunbridge, he had cried at his reflection in the clear lake. The tears had been in relief that he wasn’t his father, but in sorrow at the irony of his form. He was a great Timber Wolf, all grays and charcoal and silver, small traces of tan near his eyes and muzzle.

***2008***

It starts slow, because Aaron is still wounded from his time with Haley, but also because he’s a gentleman. There is part of him, a very real part, that is afraid of scaring Reid off. Reid, he later realizes as they’re watching Doctor Who and sort-of dating at this point but not quite, is not afraid of him and is no damsel that needs elaborate courting. Reid is in need of validation and someone who looks at him as though he is more than a tool and more than his large ears and narrow paws. Someone who will see him as Spencer Reid, a brilliant and flawed fellow who wants to be loved.

Spencer wears his flaws on his sleeve. There's no hiding that he enjoys Aaron's company. There's no hiding that his right paw reaches over now and then, his claws out, pressing them to the crook of his arm. Not an act of need, but an action Spencer needs to do so he will focus on pain from himself instead of a craving tearing through his veins like liquid fire and ice all at once.

It takes three months before they’re both ready, and when the night comes after homemade hot cocoa and too much kissing and intimate growls and groans of need and want, Spencer takes Aaron to bed, making out feverishly against the stairwell, his bedroom door, the walls, the closet door which cracks inward causing Reid to snicker and Aaron to gasp. There’s heat and need and Reid is flipped onto his back on the bed and there’s too much clothing and not quite right. Aaron leans back to strip off his shirt, pants long gone, but Spencer is fast and grasps Aaron and opportunity at once, his paws slapping Aarons away as he undoes the classic windsor knot of the Shepherd’s steel and charcoal tie, savoring the silken fabric and the look of boyish intrigue and lust on his face. The looks becomes a bark of shock as Reid jerks on the tie ends like reins, pulling Aaron down into his arms. The move topples the fur, knocking him onto his side lying next to Spencer, who pecks a kiss onto his dark nose before flashing him a devilish grin and rolling Aaron onto his back. Before Aaron’s mind can catch up, Spencer is naked except for a thin undershirt and is straddling him, looking down on Aaron with a look of satisfaction. He lets his paws roam over Aarons body, the alpha supine beneath him. Aaron stares up at Reid, eyes wide and moaning as the Marten’s paws run through his thick coat of fur. They alternate between his heavier guard hairs on his shoulders and arms down through soft belly fluff Aaron has never let be touched by another male. He shivers at the attention being lavished on his body, Reid sucking his nipples and reaching back to rub Aarons inner thighs in ways that make them both moan wantonly. As Aaron tries to sit up and touch Reid’s body to reciprocate the intimate touches, Reid scoots back with a rough “hold on” and peels off the undershirt. The larger, muscled paws grip the globes of Reid’s ass as Hotch drives his nose into Reid’s belly, nuzzling the downy, creamy fluff and kisses his way up tenderly. Spencer is looking down with wide pupils and a smile, his head blocking the moonlight peeking through the curtains. Aaron’s paws begin to run up the ticklish sides of plush fur, then move to Reid’s back and start to snake upwards.

“Not there,” his voice no longer soft, and he brings Aaron’s paws in front instead, kissing each fingertip before leaning down to kiss Aaron so hard and with such passion that the Shepherd is left gasping for air and rock hard in his boyfriend’s grip. Before hormones and lust fog his thoughts completely, Aaron strokes Reid’s face, which suddenly looks older by many years. Cradling his cheek, Aaron makes them meet each other’s gaze.

“Spencer… I care about you, so I have to ask… what happened?” Reid’s face goes cold for a second, a faraway look, then back to normal as though nothing ever changed.

“I’d rather not talk about it.” He leans forward, kissing the concerned face on the forehead, the nose, then that sinful mouth, and meets Aaron’s concerned gaze.

“I know you care. It’s nothing.” Aaron goes to disagree - metal shards in a loved one’s back are not nothing - but Spencer cuts him off.

“It was a long time ago, and it’s not important. I'll tell you later. Tonight, with you in my arms? This is what’s important.” He kisses Aaron again before he can question, then begins to stroke Aaron, using his paws and tongue in ways that leave Aaron with his mouth hanging open and shaking violently in pleasure, the older fur’s brain fully short circuiting as he’s deepthroated and milked, crying out in whines and pleads as Spencer savors every inch.

*

“Your back. Does it hurt you in the winter?” They are curled up on the sofa against each other watching a Doctor Who Christmas special, enjoying the warmth of Aaron’s pellet stove and some boozy hot cocoa. Spencer’s is heavy with marshmallows. Aaron's is heavy with whiskey. 

“No, it is just part of me. It doesn’t hurt, not anymore.” He licks marshmallow foam off his whiskers while Aaron licks a bit off his boyfriend’s nose. Despite the serious topic, both blush. 

“I can understand wanting to help your mother. That was selfless of you. You could have been killed by their malpractice.” Spencer nestles closer into Aaron with a soft, buzzed hmmm. 

“They were trying to help make cybernetics for furs with disabilities more safe. The tests did have a purpose overall.” 

“Pen, they were butchers. I have to ask. What results overall did the tests yield? I hope it was impressive.” 

“Oh, it was. I don't… the implants can amplify the results of certain charms and spells. Nothing I’d be using in the field, mind you.” Aaron puts aside their empty mugs and holds Reid close, kissing his forehead and lips before drawing him into a deep embrace. He fire dies down, and they fade into heavy sleep. 

***Mid-November, 2010***

He’s wearing a Beatles long sleeve tee and a pair of newer dark blue jeans. It has been a long, tumultuous year, and now he’s holding homemade macaroni and cheese, a tweenage appropriate compendium on beginning magic for healers, and a recently published fiction novel he hopes his favorite doctor hasn’t bought yet. He feels inadequate; Spencer has done so much in the last twelve months. He dated that girl at the bakery that Dave mentioned, he’s adopted an older pup, and he’s taking online classes on charms. Aaron is hoping Reid will let him teach him some techniques, and that it will lead to-- His concentration is broken as the handsome Marten in question appears at the door with spray glitter in his hair and across his cheeks like glistening freckles. Aaron tries to keep a friendly but serious face and fails spectacularly, his dimples popping and a hint of teeth in his broadening grin. Seeing Aaron smile has Reid’s guard drop for a moment, and he’s smiling as well. Inviting his boss in, Spencer assesses Aaron’s attire and decides to break the ice first.

“Danica’s peeking through the stairs. I’m going to call her down in a second.”

“Yes, absolutely. This is for you both.” An appraising Hrmmm, and Reid is peeking under the foil, eyes brightening and whiskers twitching at the still-warm meal. He calls his daughter down and begins to prepare drinks.

“Water or..?”

“Just water, thank you.” Taking a seat as the Otter tumbles down the stairs, hind paws and tail thumping. She’s kept the short hairstyle with bobby pins and hairspray, while Reid’s hair has slowly been growing out.

*

“You said on the phone you wanted to run something by me after the kids were full of food and asleep. Yet Jack isn’t here and Danica is technically awake.” She was in bed reading with her bedlight, and Spencer had tucked her in, setting the clock to music on a timer.

“I know. Jack had a sleepover invite and I couldn’t turn down giving Jessica the night off. She does so much for both of us. I gave her a gift certificate to Florian’s and encouraged her to enjoy her free day. She’s fond of their cherry tea and orchard chicken sandwiches.”

“That’s great. I’m sure she will enjoy the gift. What was your idea?”

“Well, I… the last few months, a lot has been put in perspective. Spencer, I’d… I’d like to try this again. I’d like to try us again. I know I have my condition, and Jack, and you have Danica… but… I miss you. I’ve missed you a great deal these past few months. Jack loves being around Danica; we both do. He already thinks of her as his sister. I know I said terrible things to you a year ago…”

“You had a serial killer attack you in your home. Aaron, I’m not going to tell you I wasn’t hurt by the break-up. I was. Terribly so. But I also understood the why. You wanted to keep me safe, and you felt severing us was the way to do that. I understood your reasoning even though I fully disagreed with it.” Spencer paused to take a drink of his tea and held Aaron’s paw. It was warm, and he had missed the feel of the calloused paw in his. Hope was blossoming.

“As far as your condition, the isolated observation bunker has been working, and the potions are working. I don’t see that being an issue because if there was a hint of that, you would have taken action with Jessica to ensure Jack’s safety.” Aaron let go an inner sigh of relief.

“I do need to talk to Danica, though. She’s an important part of this, and I need to make sure she understands she isn’t being replaced or cast aside by another change in her family. Dave and Emily are both the perfect godparents, but a second adult living with her will be a big change. Having a sibling will be an adjustment as well.” Aaron nodded.

“Prentiss mentioned she had worried Danica was lonely before she came here. Jack could be good for her.”

“I agree. Danica has friends and she does like Jack, so I think they’ll do well together. Hopefully.” He imagined the two of them running through their small home, hopped up on sugar, Jessica chasing them.

“And us? Do you think we will do well together?” Spencer made a purr-like sound and smiled.

***Late August, 2011***

“Yeah Morgan?” Emily was watching late night news and eating day-old crab rangoons when she grabbed the phone.

“Hey… Emily. You need to come up to Tunbridge. To Reid’s house. You need to fly, okay?” Morgan’s voice sounded strained and warped, and Emily was already kicking off her scuffs and slipping on her navy duster. Grabbing her keys, she locked up and made it outside in record time.

“Morgan, _what_ \--”

“Look, it’s between the two of us. Just, he’s bleeding real bad. Don’t say a word, Emily. Not a word. Just, hurry.” Looking at the cell in confusion, she made a sound before popping in into her pocket and casting transfiguration. The determined Raven took to the skies in an instant. When she had flown to the brick and siding home, a living room window was wide open and she drifted in, landing next to the tattered body of her friend. Shifting and summoning her seraphinite ivy vines, she had wrapped Reid’s wounds as she yelled his name.

The flesh from his elbow to four inches above his wrist was torn open and hanging down like a crimson flag. His ears, shoulders, and right hip were punctured in numerous places, mouth wide open as he gasped labored breaths. All four paws were matted with blood. His cream colored chin was stained dark, nearly black from the amount of blood soaking his muzzle. Paw prints, streaks and smears of red covered the floor and sections of the wall. As she healed him, soothing him and stroking his fur, she followed the grotesque patterns, searching for answers. Here, Reid’s arm had been ripped open, blood spraying. There, Morgan had shaken him in his jaws and thrown him against the wall. In another corner, paw prints shown where Reid had launched himself off the wall and likely into Morgan, his claws outstretched. The corner Reid was lying in when she had arrived had a tremendous pool of blood, and the way the paw prints were lined up, Morgan would have to have been on top of Reid, teeth on his throat, Reid backed into the corner probably snarling but unable to keep his balance with injured hip and torn arm…

“Don’t call the cops, don’t Emmi. Please. It’s between the two of us. Not a word Emmi, not a word. Please.” His voice was a rasp; his eyes were desperate and honest.

“Fine, but you have to tell Hotch.” He sighed and looked over at his phone on the floor, then back to her.

“Fine. I promise, I will tell Hotch.” She frowned as she stroked his fur soothingly.

“Your animagus tattoo is wrecked. You won't be able to shift anymore.” Spencer wanted to vomit. As if his night couldn’t get any worse.

*

Emily may have healed his bloody, tattered arm, but deep vertical scars ran through the tattoo. They’d been just so severe that she couldn’t make them fully fade. He had barely said a word, mostly due to blood loss and humiliation, but she had been able to repair him quite well overall. A morningstar scar was on his throat from where Morgan had struck, but his arm had taken longer. She had been forced to use stitches in addition to healing. He was lucky to be alive. When she found Morgan later, worried for the other party, she had found him with shredded ears, a deep wound just below his spleen that made the flesh look like burger, and deep scratches all over from where Reid had fought. Even his nose was torn. When she was done, only minor scarring remained near his belly button.

*

His victory over Morgan had come at a greater cost than a map of faint scars on his left arm. Aaron was pacing and shot him a miserable, panicked look.

“Why? Reid, while noble that you and Morgan worked through whatever that was about, you can’t use your animagus tattoo anymore.”

“We could have Dave try it, or Emily, or JJ. Even Anderson might be able to do it, Hotch.”

“I trust you more than them. I never wanted this burden to fall on you, but I trust _you_. If there's no one who can contain me, they’ll force me to resign or fire me. You're sure Prentiss couldn't repair it better?” His eyes begged for better news but Spencer knew there was none.

“It was mangled. She did all she could. JJ couldn't do better, either.” JJ had tried to get him to open up, but she was no Emily, and he’d told her forcefully to let it go. He’d been livid when she had called Aaron, but he’d confirmed that Spencer had already told him that they’d fought and worked through it. That wasn’t entirely true or false. Spencer had told Aaron he’d fought Morgan, they’d discussed the _why_ less in-depth. He and Morgan were still speaking, just no longer as close as they once were.

“What about transfiguration?”

“What about it?” The knife-sharp tone was back in an instant.

“Hotch… _Aaron_ , I _can’t._ ”

“They’ll force me to go by the end of the week, Spencer. I love this job but I… I understand.”

 _And I love you_ , he thought sadly.

*** September 2011***

It was Thursday night, and Morgan was running as hard as he could, Hotch panting at his side. It was their fourth case since they had all come back from their individual assignments. The horde of raging cultists were after them, and their legs were weary. Aaron stumbled and fell with a cry, forcing himself back up, started to run again, but the transfiguration spell lifted and he groaned as he collapsed, a broken-down German Shepherd again. His heart was pounding hard and his weakened body fought to ignore the sweeping pain.

 _Not like this,_ he thought morosely, _please not like this._ He tried again to stand, but twinges in his legs had him falling to his knees, chest deep in the long grass. His lungs burned and he could feel his bones shaking. Blood was trickling steadily between all of his paw pads, slick and matted with dirt. Morgan wore matching gashes on his legs from crashing through the brambles alongside him. He could barely breathe.

“Hotch, man, come on, we can’t, they’re, come on--”

And then, in the blink of an eye, the cultists were gone. A roar had their bodies torn like paper and tossed in every direction into the wind, and Aaron shook as the reddish-tan monstrosity that had saved him from one death and was to deliver him to another approached. He had to blink twice. The beast was as tall as a mobile home at its hips. Tall, pointed ears. Silky crème brûlée  belly fur. Gold, taupe, and timber brown accents shone in the moonlight. Reddish highlights were flecked into the darker saddle on its back, tail and face. Piercing hazel eyes met his, eyes that Aaron Hotchner inexplicably _knew_. The eyes were determined, and they held their gaze as a wave of memories crashed down.

_“No, it is just part of me. It doesn’t hurt, not anymore.”_

_No, stop that._

_“The tests did have a purpose overall.”_

_STOP THAT._

“--HOTCH, HOLY FUCK--”

_“What results overall did the tests yield? I hope it was impressive.”_

_“Oh, it was. I don't… the implants can amplify the results of certain charms and spells. Nothing I’d be using in the field, mind you.”_

_And yet…_

_“Our fur is mostly the same color, but for some reason he had brown accents, and I have, well… they’re kind of reddish. I guess, uhm, I’m kind of brown and tan with those.”_

_Oh. **Oh**_ **_._ **

The giant stood over him protectively, high pitched winds making the rich coat ripple in the day. Aaron stared at the beast that had saved his life now, and back in 2005. Back before...

“Reid?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for your support.

**Author's Note:**

> Current goal is monthly updates, but as I work a weird shift, may be subject to change.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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